WALKING CONTRADICTION

 

WALKING CONTRADICTION

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A Walking Contradiction
A walking contradiction; blessed and cursed,
By wisdom beyond her years, immersed
In truths that both enlighten and confine,
She treads a path where shadows intertwine. With eyes that see beyond the veil,
She reads the world like ancient Braille.
Yet every truth she comes to know
Brings with it a shadow’s glow. When given independence, privacy’s embrace,
She fills her canvases with fervent grace.
Colors bleed with passion, intensity unbound,
Tears trace her cheeks, sensitivity profound. Her hands dance wild across the frame,
Each stroke a cry, a whispered name.
The hues collide—crimson, gold, and blue—
A tempest born of all she’s lived through. Within her mind, a storm does rage,
Ideas clash on every page.
Brainwashed by reflections skewed,
She sees a world that’s misconstrued. Fun-house mirrors, mirages bright,
Convince her day is endless night.
Their warped deceit, a cruel disguise,
Fogs the clarity of wiser eyes. Yet somewhere deep, a voice persists,
That truth exists beyond the mists.
A flicker of her soul’s own light,
Straining to break the spell of night. Armed with words, her conscience stands,
A sentinel in shifting sands.
With ammunition sharp and keen,
It guards the space where dreams convene. Refusing negotiations, firm and bold,
It speaks in verses yet untold.
But words can wound as much as mend,
A double-edged sword she can’t transcend. Bound and gagged, potential lies,
Unheard beneath her muffled cries.
A seed unplanted, trapped in stone,
Yearning for a soil of its own. Doubts and fears, like iron chains,
Bind the wings of what remains.
A future vast, a destiny grand,
Slips through the fingers of her hand. Yet in her solitude, she dares to weave,
A tapestry of all she can conceive.
Through every tear, through every fight,
She carves her path from dark to light. A walking contradiction, fierce and frail,
Her spirit bends but does not fail.
For wisdom’s curse, though deep it cuts,
Ignites the fire within her guts. In quiet moments, she surveys,
The winding roads of all her days.
Blessed and cursed, yet wholly she,
A soul forever wild and free.