Polar Opposites

A mistake

Was what they called

The girl with hair

Like a raven's feathers,

And eyes that rivaled the

Never-ending black pits

Of her family's despair.

An angel

Was what they called

The boy with golden curls

Woven like silk and vivid dreams

Who had eyes that shone

Like perfectly cut diamonds

And glittering sapphires.

She was an outcast.

She was a stain.

He was a fairy tale.

He was a god.

She was inevitably lonely,

And abandoned by all.

But she held the grace

Of a thousand ballerinas,

And the intelligence

Of a hundred brain surgeons.

He was beautiful,

Like a shimmering star.

But he was pressured to no end,

Beaten and thrown

From his first and only home

For being weak.

And the day came when fate decided

They would meet.

And when he saw her

He tripped over himself

Because in her eyes of darkness

He saw himself.

He was back to square one.

"She is to blame,"

They said.

"For his plummeting perfection,

And his shattered success."

And by not fault of her own,

She was suddenly

The careless fingerprint

On his spotless record.

And she was

The smudge of poisoned ink

On his detailed autobiography.

He was at first worthless.

A corrupted weakling,

Who was never strong enough.

He was a tattered cloth,

Until he was stitched together

By chance and luck.

She was always worthless.

She was chipped and broken glass,

Her cracks tearing at her skin

Until there was nothing left

But a whispered sigh

Of disappointment.

"She's a nuisance.

She's inferior.

He was a framed masterpiece

Of total faultlessness,

Until he met her,"

They said.

"They are polar opposites,"

They said.