constellations on her skin
fire in her bones
she had always preferred solitude
but never knew how to be alone

she was free in ways you could only dream-
slave only to unyielding empathy;
she would rather not try than not be the best-
mediocrity had always been her worst enemy.

people would ask her how she was
'but how to diagnose her condition?'
how do you explain to someone far more less peculiar
that you've always been a walking contradiction?

with nothing but love in her spirit
accompanied by the sting of death in her heart,
all she knew was turning whispers into words
and so she made her complexities her art*//