Nothing is ever her fault,
The poor Damsel in Distress
Causes her own problems
And hopes that others will fix them.
.
Her moods shift
Like a car gear,
And exhaust emotions
Like flames burning the engine.
.
You never know what mood she takes,
Or when her personality shifts,
Because the trauma pops like bubbles
And changes her perception.
.
The rage intensifies
Like an underground bomb;
The same questions
Lead the distressed to imploding.
.
She cannot escape,
And tries understanding
Why bad things take place.
She doesn't realize that her personality ends her case.
.
She becomes who she admires,
But will lie
After stealing who they are,
Because her identity is cheap, like the dollar tree.
.
Her lies creep;
Her aura is dense,
And people stay away;
Their words contradict her delusions.
.
She fails to know her selfishness
And only commits what will benefit;
Her defensive thinking
Causes tantrums that rotate.
.
She is happy again
And lacks any understanding;
Her childlike personality
Is her trauma reenacting.
.
Her impulsive spending
And her ignorance
Make her black and white,
And terrible with communicating.
.
Don't say that you love her,
Or that you hate her,
Because any response is fraudulent
And cancels out the imposter.
.
She creates her own problems
And can never solve them;
Then wonders why people leave her
As she's the last chess piece standing.
.
Checkmate, the Queen is down,
As her pawns defend her,
But she hates them
Because they've abandoned her.
.
Her pawns run
While she tries to touch,
And hits the board,
No longer moving.