What people don’t see is a little child with a blindfold over her eyes.
She reaches out and a hand like hers leads her.
She follows the child for a few years and soon becomes friends with her.
But then later abandons her when the little child could finally see,
Letting the little girl learn to fend for the loss on her own.
What people don’t see is a young child in the corner.
In the hidden mist was another girl and they were close.
They told each other everything and shared journals.
Letting their imaginations run wild in mystical lands,
Filled with fey, fights, evil crows and eagles who were shapeshifters.
Blood would sometimes get spilled but the Faroe Gods were the worst.
As this world became real,
So did their friendship.
What people don’t see is the young woman having many holes.
Bullet holes from agony,
Sadness and sorrow.
But they heal slowly for she doesn’t let them out to the open.
Not even her Safekeepers who raised her couldn’t keep a lock on them.
She felt delicate,
And even fell,
Turning to feathers in her dreams.
What people don’t see is a warrior in training.
She is learning to be tactile and sneaky minded.
How to be brave and smooth in a fight,
But not ones using prowess and agile with body limbs.
It uses your heart and words of the whim.
She trains long and hard as she sits in her room,
Writing on paper and makes conversation with oneself.
What people don’t see,
The Inner Me.