Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story

Of the young girl that cried many tears.

Whos bright-brown eyes cried where no other soul could see

And thought hope was defenestrated by

Her own thoughts. She suffered immensely

By the great wounds and bruises she felt in her heart;

Desiring the feeling of freedom and true happiness,

But instead felt trapped and exhausted.

Nights like these were times when sleep

Seemed like the only escape.

Tell the story, Muse, of how the girl who

Felt most exhausted appeared the

Most happiest of them all. How the

Others didn’t ask how she was

Because of their own foolishness

To think that a smile means that

Everything is okay. But little does the young- intelligent

Girl know, she is the definition of hope.

She is the light of which makes everything

Appear more euphoric.

And maybe, she hasn’t noticed this enough

Or maybe hasn’t been told enough.

Yet, she stills carries on, for she

Doesn’t know of anything else.