Weiss

Blue on gold with black and white.
Amalgamation meaning naught.
Stitched together to please scathing eyes.
Beholden to the darkest masters.
But they never see you cry.

A face that smiles through night and day.
Carved up scars resting on the face.
Weeping deep inside, below.
They cannot see the wall is cracking.
It might yet fall to a single blow.

This fragile glass on which you're walking.
Reflects a saddened, beaten, weeping face.
But on the outside a face of stoic stone.
"Entitled scathing, seething women".
This you're called while seated on your shameful throne.

Cold as ice and lacking luster.
Shining only in the purest light.
Cast aside by your fathers rising.
Expectations of power and epic might.
The scar the only protest you could muster.

Prejudice is engrained deeply.
Against your fathers staunchest foes.
But deep down in that heart of stone.
A crack of ice has surely grown.
And soon the truth of friends you'll know.

The solemn vows you swear to keep.
Apathy inside you slowly creeps.
A dichotomy of hate and pain.
Seething anger and fragile lies.
Friends the only hope to be whole again.

You spit out words that hurt and scrape.
But only to shield you from others' hate.
They do not know that deep within,
Behind this wall of steep, sheer ice.
A child abandoned is what remains.

Swallow pride and choke back pain.
Embrace the friends that know your name.
Shed a tear or pay the price.
They see you how you truly are.
Just open up and let them stare.