A petty judgement is a judgement, no less.
She burns hard, and she burns fast. Like when a firecracker dances, and you know it's not meant to last. Like a phoenix risen from the ash, she dusts herself off as if ready for the waves of epiphany that will wash over her being. Her mind is pregnant with knowledge while wisdom weighs heavy on her fluttering heart. She weeps, but her tears aren't sorry — it's a cleansing act really...ridding herself of resentment and grief. Out with the old and in with the new; bidding adieu so she can make room. Room for what's to come and room for what's to follow.
Scarred and bruised, but she doesn't care...her skin is like a map of where her heart has been. Tried and true, yet she still wonders what you see, but anyone can see skin deep...and a petty judgment is a judgment no less. Either way she's happy. There's nothing like the freedom of setting yourself free...so pick that lock and be ready to fly.