She is not unseen—
she is the quiet glow before dawn,
the kind of light only patient eyes
learn to recognize.
She is not boring—
she is a book of wild pages,
not written in small talk
but in skies,
in freedom,
in sparks of joy she gifts to others.
Yes, the crowd may pass her by,
but not because she is empty—
because she is deep.
And depth is not for everyone,
only for those who dare to swim.
She is not left out—
she is set apart.
Like a rare flower blooming
where few have the courage to wander.
Her laughter may come soft,
her words may trail like whispers,
but inside, a storm of color rages,
a kaleidoscope of dreams
that no one has yet learned to hold.
She carries the sky in her chest,
the quiet thrill of stars unseen,
the courage to love from afar,
the power to find her own light
even when shadows fall heavy.
And one day,
those who can see beyond the noise
will find her.
Not to cage her freedom,
but to walk beside it,
to honor her softness,
and call it strength.
She is the quiet flame
that warms without demanding,
burns without blinding,
and teaches the world
that even the gentlest fire
can be fierce enough to change everything.
