She is a flower blooming in the dark,

Yet her essence still radiates.

She is a treasure in a box,

Locked away and guarded by a dragon.

She is a submarine,

Gliding through the water,

Silently surfacing for air only at night.

She is a spy in enemy territory,

Always on ward,

Never letting down her guard.

She is a character in a noir novel,

Building a secret garden,

Hidden away from the prying eyes of the world.

She is on a tiny island in the middle of a vast ocean,

All she can see are waves crashing on the shore,

But never the horizon.

She is a pearl inside an oyster’s shell,

So alluring but ultimately unattainable.

She is a candle in the secluded greenhouse,

Her secret flickering in the shadows.

She is a glowing ember under a pile of ashes,

Her soul smolders just below the surface,

Waiting to burst into flame.

But she accept her fate like a hot coal

And it burned through her soul

As the realization dawned on her

Her shoulder relaxed

Like hot iron in the water

It’s her kiss to the forehead

Her warm blanket in the cold winter night

It’s her marking

A gift to oneself

As the tension that had been building 

In her chest since forever melts away.

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