She wasn't herself.

She was easy to understand, they never did.

She was older than they thought she would be.
She was weaker than they thought she could be.
She was stronger than that they had never thought.

She was a figure build of sensitivity;
but lesser did people know, she could even fight herself.

As she lay on bed at night;
she wet herself with tears of all day.
As she tosses and turns at bed;
she heals her wounds by silent praying.

She was capable of everything that they thought she wasn’t.
She was incapable of that they thought she was.

Out she glowed with happiness;
but inside she was hollow.

She sought for a bond like the blood ones;
in the strangers, neglected by her own family.
She searched for people who understood her
but the unreliable society wouldn’t let her do.

She was thirsty of love and affection;
not for the worldly things but for the true meaningful relationships.
She was lucky enough to be blessed with everything;
but unlucky to not having the valuable bonds.

Her whole life seemed a mistake to her
and couldn’t find any way to improve the rest.
They never let her take decisions on her own;
they never appreciated for obeying them.

She was mistaken all her life;
her worth was never realized by them.