She was there, still

fettered, broken.

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-

for judgment.

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

confused, catatonic

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