Her Story

To be contained or content Either way she’d be silent Beyond life she’d find she was sure Beauty galore A small smile spelled more disaster Than one wide and toothy, so much more like her Shying away from conversation Now that she’d given up all pretension She could speak she supposed But what was the satisfaction in being opposed She was one they were many Terrible beasts they were all, slaves of tyranny Born as a burden Lived sullen Moved towards a starry sky Only to find an empty night, sigh Why her? She asks Why the only one who doesn’t own masks Never intruding, only living Punished for being Nobody saw the intelligence in her eyes It died in all her strife, fights and cries Nobody heard the confidence in her voice It left when to live on, all she had left were lies No one saw no one heard They only perused, they only shushed Poise and grace, her ultimate test Mastered both yet didn’t get the crest One of the lucky ones, ironically For making it this far without being dead for all eternity Part of another dwindling statistic Part of another cause, a new uproar, much too futuristic She is the mother The sister and the daughter The creation held as the closest to the creator Yet she’s the one struggling to make it into the future Her only fault, to be her The only reason, her.