Beautiful disaster.

In the dim glow of this old, tired bar
with its cracked stools and broken jukebox,
I sit and watch the parade of humanity
drowning their truths in alcohol,
faces blurred, stories untold.

There’s a lady at the end of the room,
hair like dark rain,
eyes soft like the edge of a storm,
but inside, oh, inside
she’s a tempest, a swirling madness.

They say the kindest people
carry the heaviest burdens,
their hearts are wild oceans,
raging against the quiet of their smiles.
and she, she’s got that kindness,
a saintly grace that masks her inner riot.

I see her hand, steady and calm,
touch the bruised arm of a stranger,
offering solace in a world that’s cracked and cruel,
but i know, i see the way her fingers tremble
when no one’s looking.

She’s got a scream inside her chest,
a howl that’s been silenced by years
of being everyone’s anchor, everyone’s rock,
and god, if they only knew
the chaos she harbors in that gentle soul.

Kindness is her shield, her prison,
she wears it like a second skin,
and every night she drowns the echoes
of her own wild heart
in the bottom of a glass,
in the lights of empty shows.

She’s a warrior in a world that’s blind,
a poet in a town that’s deaf,
and me, i’m just another lass
watching the beautiful disaster of her life
unfold in the shadows of this bar.

We’re all broken, all haunted,
but the kind ones, the quiet ones,
they hold the fiercest storms,
and tonight, as the neon lights flicker,
I drink to her,
to the chaos behind her kindness,
to the beautiful, damned mess
she hides so well.

-G