Who is she?

Who is she?

She must be her A4 size resume,

Crisp bold letters on a smooth white manuscript.

Maybe she is made of her triumphs the world knows of,

The school she went to and the Ivy League she graduated from?
Success and Victory is what she’s made of!

Or maybe, her relationships define her, or her high cheek bones,

The men she’s dated and the friends she’s had?

The red of her lips and the rouge on her cheeks?

Oh! She's her Maserati, or her house, her children and her spouse

Is she all of that?

Maybe her Twitter feed and her Facebook profile,

The duplicated life she leads swamped in her E-world!

The glamor and parties that surround her life?
Maybe her friends, maybe her foes,
On her photographs, a 100 likes?

She’s so much more:

She’s the dreams she dreamed about but couldn't accomplish,

The thoughts that twinkle her eye,

She is the thrill she feels in the climax of her book,

And her insecurities, she doesn't know why?
The songs that give her goosebumps,
and the movies that make her cry!
The grey areas of her mind that she cannot face,

The promises that to herself she makes,

She’s the way she loves and the way she cares

And the way she uses her radioactive mind!

The thoughts she has when she’s alone

And the places of comfort she finds.

She’s so much more than the daylight can see,

And the crevasses of night can find!

You're neither your color, nor your body,

You're nothing but your soul to the blind!