She is happy,
She is independent,
She is confident,
But behind the mask.
She has real friends,
She gets straight A's,
She is ideal,
But behind the mask.
She likes to count the colours on the rainbow,
She likes to climb mountains and touch the cold snow caps,
But is refrained to do so,
Because she has to always be under those prying eyes of the society.
She knows if she cries,
She will be termed as petty.
She knows if she hid her tears,
She will be termed as attention-seeker.
There's this huge, never-ending tornado which spins so fast, it makes her dizzy.
She cannot keep up with the amount of things that the tornado is sucking in.
She has lost count of the things that went down the spiral.
'Down?', you ask?
That's because she is the person who is standing on the upper side of the tornado,
and when she looks down, the spiral is infinite.
And she can do nothing about it.
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