Faint footsteps down the hall
A pitter-patter on the cold stone tiles
She's awake again.

She creeps quietly to the door
Opens it with the faintest quiver in her hands
She's never snuck out before

But this night she must,
The outdoors are her sanctuary
The moon her sister,

The door closes quietly behind her
She gathers her pencils and paper
And heads for the roof

A coyote howls in a distant cornfield
ten twenty-two, right on cue
She climbs to the highest point
And begins to draw.

What is she drawing you ask?
It is nothing of fantasy,
Nothing from some indistinct world

No. It is her self portrait
Beautiful at first glance,
But the eyes give her intent away

Pain, suffering, loss
The eyes show it all
There are no tears,
The smile hides the fear.

She looks at her masterpiece
And begins to cry.
Why! She cries to her sister the moon.

Why can't they see!
The beauty inside of me that only I can see!
Though I am tortured,

I am beautiful.
I overcome,
I live, and I die.

Is she really that diferent?
No.
She is just like everyone else.

Beautiful
In her own way
Not in the world's way.