Her skin, a fine canvas for art.
Her body, a home for metal adornments.
Her hair, streaks of crimson and night.
Her clothes, in shades of mourning.
She fancies the darker side of life
for it too holds beauty.
But some choose to judge harshly.
“Freaks,” they mutter.
She stares at the somber girl in the mirror.
She envisions her body as a blank canvas.
She envisions the metal disappearing.
She envisions her hair in a normal hue.
She envisions herself in anything but black.
As soon as the new self appears,
She smiles at the morbid girl in the mirror.
She places her hand on the glass,
palm to palm with the girl.
Though looks can be deceiving,
underneath the gloomy exterior
lies a warm heart.
All she has to do is show them.
She will continue onward,
creeping out from the shadows
and reforming the narrow-minded.
Each day, a conquest for the freaks.