The world is not made for a girl like me, and who is a girl like me?
So gentle, so fragile, so easily torn apart.
So eager, so passionate, too trusting.
So kind, so caring, so giving.
So strong, yet so weak, too unsure.
So many others, but not enough.
For you, for her, for him, for me.
I have fallen down so many times.
I have rebuilt too many times.
They say such wonderful words and you start to see; you start to believe it, you do.
So soon, too soon something else, or someone else does it again.
I have fallen again.
Maybe I never built high enough, the world's patience lacked, and time moved too quickly.
The world is not made for a girl like me, and I am not like anyone else.
I am unique, God's own creation.
But he or I missed something out, and I have lost all, and any identity once given to me.
Anything or anyone that I thought I was.
Weakness is drawn out in any strength like a sharp needle withdrawing blood from a vein, it is dark, and it is quick, and the world is taking too much away of me from me.
How does a girl like me survive in this world?
Copyright (c) by Kathryn Jenkins.
All rights reserved.
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