Dianna

She sits there stroking her hair,
A light smile graces that face,
For a second,
Yet still despair clouds the eyes,
Of that face which does not smile nearly enough,
Loved by no one,
So she thinks,
Yet in truth she hates herself,
More than anyone ever could,
Desperately grasping for handholds,
In this cruel world,
She cannot cause pain to others,
So instead she chooses herself,
A shield from misery,
Protecting even those she hates,
But can't bear to,
Wishing for love at every turn,
And so never seeing when it is there,
Or accepting it for what it is,
Oblivious to all,
But the worthlessness she feels,
Never good enough,
Constantly comparing,
That, which can't,
Nor should be,
She does not see herself,
Save through her eyes,
Marred by the scars others inflicted,
She is destroyed by them,
By those who do not care,
And who should not be cared for,
Yet are,
The few that hated her,
That she cannot bear to hate,
She feels too much,
And yet too little,
So she is left with nothing at all,
The guilt she feels for her inadequacy,
And anger,
Not deserved,
Yet ever present,
The sadness she masks,
And mocks,
The sweetest soul,
And yet so sad,
A golden heart,
A golden friend,
This sorrowful Dianna