She was born with colour and magic, into a grey world that held no magic or imagination. Gifted by the gods they said, thinking your power could, and would be used for, and by them. Yet, so is the flawed nature of men; so willing to claim what is not theirs. So quick to take control when power appears.
She was born with sculpture and poise, into a degrading world with chisels and carves away at original art. Until you are nothing, but the rubble, the oddments you began as. Yet, so is the insecurity of this world, forced upon all till they feel it too. Until their reflection is no longer theirs.
She was born with voice and reason, into an interruptive world which argues and mocks your very words. Any utterance becomes annoyance so you hide, you are silent. Yet, so is the struggle of this world, compelled to dismiss their talents and tasks. As if you have no spirit; not a life at all.
© Greta Alise Haley