They say I’m too little,
For a change that I desire,
Too shy for a rebel.
Too late I say,
Already swimming,
In a pool of fire.
Burning in rage.
They say I’ve changed,
Drifting from sanity,
Stumbling already.
Too late I say,
Already a queen,
Among the blind,
Hearing the saga
Of their cries.
They say I should paint,
A stroke of dust on my face,
To hide my unpredictability.
Too late I say,
Already in love,
With tainted eyes,
Freckled skin and
Bleeding veins.
They say I am doomed,
Won’t survive long,
Disintegrating into dust.
Too late I say,
Already seen the void,
Survived the war,
Befriended the ants
Crawling on me as
I lie on the ground.
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