The Sculptor

She sees with iridescent eyes,

She certainly has something to hide.

If not hidden; the world would steal 

What is really meant to be real.

Her skin tainted by those not chosen to be exist

She cries the tears of one who had to choose

Laying in safely in her mind

Her mistakes, she cannot hide

Imperfections lead to perceptions 

Perceptions of her, perceptions of the world, 

The world weighs

It weighs heavy on those 

Those wounds

Those words

They leave her without a home.

For her voice, cannot speak, the cries she cannot seek

They whisper in the darkest of depths 

Hidden in her mind until they grasp her hands,

She is the sculptor, 

They take hold of what she thought was hers, 

For now she molds those who have not walked the earth. 

Picture credit: Pinterest: Sculpture by Benjamin Victor