Said the woman,
with her trendy haircut,
colors of the season,
modern attitudes.
“I’m not like the others,”
wearing her tribe’s symbols,
Needing aproval,
Marking her skin with the same icons;
like words of the same language.
“My personality is unique,”
yet if they all spoke at once,
they would form a choir of millions
Millions, searching for individuality
through the same path.
May 28, 2025
May 28, 2025 at 1:01 PM UTC
Said the woman,
with her trendy haircut,
colors of the season,
modern attitudes.
“I’m not like the others,”
wearing her tribe’s symbols,
Needing aproval,
Marking her skin with the same icons;
like words of the same language.
“My personality is unique,”
yet if they all spoke at once,
they would form a choir of millions
Millions, searching for individuality
through the same path.
Request permission to use this poem