Yin-Yang, push, pull, always switching directions,
Digging deeper, future bleaker like a chronic infection,
Help her climb back up, otherwise she’s drowning,
Always feeling demoted, never in line for a crowning.
She lives in the moonlight, but always searching for the sun,
Fighting with her hands and never reaching for a gun.
Her tormented soul, her loving mind,
Feelings of betrayal is the sum.
Facing the war, but always wanting to run.
She keeps going when she’s always feeling done.
Yin-Yang, push, pull.
Her soul’s a harp,
But her heart’s a drum.