A girl with a silent struggle

Words caught in her throat

Carefully blended in

Edges too blurred

Easily missed.

Someone with a name

But a name of no distinction.

“What’s in a name?

That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet”

Maybe it’s true

Maybe there is more to this girl

An artist: original, unique. 

But how am I so different, so avant-garde 

When even this idea was Shakespeare’s, 

Not mine.