The Attic

She sits in the attic  place she has created for herself

A place she has created for herself

A place she runs to, when everyone turns their back at her

In the attic, she writes, she dances, and she reads

She unties her hair, letting her hair loose, flow

In that little universe no one will tell her to look, act or speak the way others sees right

She will do what she thinks is right

She will keep her hair the way she likes

She will wear the clothes she likes

“But why do you care so much about how people see you?” She once said, unable to stay quite any longer. “Foolish girl, you dont understand”, she was told.

She walks to the window, and looks at the sky, at the magnificent painting, the work of god.

The streets are quite, a frequent rumbling of people, some laughter, but quite.

She inhales the night air, ever molecule of air travels within her lungs, and cools her soul.

“How wonderful it would be, If I can discover the world” she mumbles to herself.

She place her hand on her chine, looking into the sky, thinking of how people control her

How they lock her away, in a place they call home.


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