Something About You. The Way You Move.

Your mouth moves but she's still fighting to hear what you are saying. The way your eyebrows raise up and down, she is guessing it signifies fluctuation in your voice.  Could she be right? She still can't understand what you are trying to get across to her. She feel's sorry, but she might be lying because she haven't been feeling much lately. The interact detail of every spoken word scares her to listen, you have the most beautiful sounding voice. She dances around the room in her boy boxers and lays in every grass field she's seen. The bartender knows what her drink needs a little "topping off" and her face reads confusion. Just as you can't understand what I've written, she has yet to understand her life. The birds chirping outside her window give the simplest reminder that she has not completely lost her sanity. Oh poor wear girl, they have no idea. Her heart was spilled out years ago, but somehow the mess was never noticeable enough for anyone to clean up, or to take as their own. So, as the war rages on, and her heart grows even more weary, she believes in herself enough to move mountains. She can accomplish things that average, ordinary,  citizens couldn't do themselves. Yet, she has always been seen as the underdog. Although her two has have helped save more lives than doctors themselves, people threaten her capability. She will never be able to fit into the proper side of society, but she has never shown in interest in the upper class. Her light is shown brightest when she is with the people of her status. Some may call them the underdogs, but she refers to herself as beautiful, because she's realized her attitude determines her circumstance. The dim lights will never see her shining bright, but she would never want to waist her light on someone who wouldn't appreciate it. She's capable. 

I give everything over to You Lord