She's an artist,
a great artist.
She paints flowers,
she paints rainbows,
she paints smiles.
She paints them on faces,
every single one,
but her own.
She's always there,
head tilted down.
She was talking to nobody,
that was more than enough.
She jots her feelings down,
because they were there to stay.
She had enough,
but she's ironically muted.
