Prena Poetry

I know alot now, I am older. And yet I quite easily miss the younger version of myself, the girl who dreaded upon sharp objects and assumed courage to be woman with a gun in her mind, but was atleast unaware, of what pain and tragedy really felt like. But then I wish I could put my arms around that little girl, and tell her that she is so brave and so kind. That even when a dozen pair of eyes and words, fails to notice the crumbling personality and a torn up paper crown on her head. She will never be nothing. She will always be everything, everything.