Her eyes see better than my own. She is admired by all. She has clarity, vision, and artistry. She produces works of art so clear, viewers are transported to a land of freedom and possibility. She is a rebel, careless but perfect nonetheless. She pleases the people around her not herself. Her hard work never gets recognized, she never tires. She is generous. The credit always goes to the others; the photographer, the subject. The responsibility for greatness is not attributed to the rebel, the canon, or even the intricate gears and wires.
She will always be there for me. She understands me and I understand her. Thats all that matters. Everywhere I go she goes, she's my creativity in a bag. She blurs past the unwanted, making what is important clear. Her secret is beauty, inner-beauty. Magical gears and wires work around the clock so my creativity will blossom.
She is like me, not slim, nor beautiful she is boxy and misinterpreted. Her beauty is known to few, the few that understand her complexity and vision. Inner beauty is known to few, who is mine known to? Speak now, claim me now. Claim the generosity, the artistry, carelessness, claim the rebel.