She was there, still
A girl with more selves than one.
Passion seeping through her every being.
She was movement, still
her inspiration creeping out of all things around her.
She stood questioning, helpless.
Her thoughts halting at the tip of her tongue
her words entangling her vocal cords.
Her sincerity, muffled, camouflaged.
Her stand, still.
She passes as passing, parting, silent, fickle, and feeble.
She passes under knives of scrutiny as a specimen-
Her life made confused, to become what she was not;
by an unjustified coarse, already-trodden, ready-made,
thin, clustered and crowded paths.
She walks, numb, blank
too catatonic to speak
for speech was not made hers
She’s freezing without, storming without,
or the other way around,
Her two selves linger, still