Imitation

Accents blending in the air. Southern drawl slowly mixing with Caribbean beats,, Until the energy of the Harlem Renaissance tops it all off. "We don't like you." Says the wind to the teenage girl. "You have to much mixture,to much blend. You don't fit into any boxes." says the rain drop. "Change, cut two mixtures or else." threatens the lightning. But to cut even one would leave her vulnerable to all elements. She needed her full foundation. "We don't like you." says the wind again. "I don't care." says the girl. "You will." roared the thunder. The blend bubbled inside of her but didn't boil over. It went to slow simmer. She smiled in calmness not anger. "At least you dislike me, not a cheap imitation of someone else." says the girl. Then the sun stood up. "Leave her alone. She is my real gem." says the sun. The sun brightened the sky above her head.