She loved

She tried

She believed

But who was she?

 

Was she the victim

The survivor

The daydreamer

Or just an misunderstood

Queen?

 

She knew there was no shape

To grief

No weight in tears

No depth to the smile

From a stranger

 

She knew she left

An echo

In the hearts

That she touched

But there were no shadows

 

Only light

Not woven

But intricately sewn

Into every stitch 

Of her fibre

 

The machines came 

And they tried to steal

Her soul

Little did they know

 

You must taste the salt

In your tears

Feel the iciness

Of the waves

Washing over your feet

 

A heart must ache

And shatter 

As you feel the sunset

On your skin

While your lover

Dies from within

 

There was no in between

Grays were gray

And colours were vibrant

No whispered sighs 

Only the lows

Balanced by highs

 

She had lived

Ugly

Beautiful

Happy

And sad

 

She’d known anger

The boiling belly

Of anguish

And desire

No realms 

Only reality

 

Love 

Envy

Betrayal

Joy

She felt them all

And more

 

Her veins pumped with blood

Her heart beat with love

And she died 

Knowing she’d lived. 

Clare Kinnaird, 2025.