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Sitting in her bedroom all alone,
panicking about wasting her glory years,
she sculpts, and paints, and prints.
The visual learner who listens to nobody
throws herself into another unfinished project
to calm her trembling fingers.
Because she knows better than anyone that
time is not wasted when it heals the soul.
And all she wonders is when is it going to be her turn?
Her chance to savor greatness with every last taste bud.
Her turn to be remembered as the one who
made everyone look at life through a different lens.
Her time to be the girl who is noticed for the depth of her heart,
even though she’d rather be noticed for the size of her delicate frame.
Because after eighteen years of invisibility,
she’s ready to give up.
And such a tragedy it would be
if she tossed in her towel before her time,
allowing not one person to experience her electric feel
and her love that she claims she’s not able to give.
But see I know her secret.
I’ve seen past the stone walls that she calls home.
I know about her obsession with bones
and music that reminds her she’s still alive.
I know about the unpainted canvases that match the photo-less paper
that waits for her ideas to be born.
I know that she falls in love with everything and nothing simultaneously.
I know about the words that scar her and
I know about the words that scare her.
Because I knew that all she needed was someone patient,
someone that would not give up on the girl who doesn’t speak.
I understand her silence and I praise her grace.
For she has taught me everything I need to know about living,
living for myself and not one single person more.