She used to be so many things
A poet, a musician, a beauty to behold
She used to know that she was valuable
Without ever being told
She used to want to see the world
And for the world to truly see her too
She used to have dreams and desires
That she never doubted would come true

She doesn't write or play guitar anymore
Her beauty has slipped away
She mostly feels invisible
In the grind of day to day
She is a mother and a wife who is loved
But who is never honestly seen
She slowly gave up on fulfilling
Any of her hopes and dreams
She is faded, jaded and worn
She is a shadow of who she used to be
Her body is beaten, tattered and torn
And I know this: for She is Me.

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