she had always liked to explain things
no one ever cared.

the teacher came and spoke to her
she told her to wear dresses
like all of the other girls
she said she didn't want to
and that it didn't matter.

one day they painted
she painted all in red
and she smiled because
it was the way she felt inside
and it was beautiful.

the teacher came
and frowned at her
"what is this?" she said
"why don't you paint something like mary's painting.
isn't that beautiful?"

after that her mother bought her dresses
and she always painted flowers and butterflies
just like everyone else.
and she threw away the red painting
and the inside of her became dark
and less beautiful everyday.

she lay outside alone
and looked up at the night sky
it was big, and sparkling, and all of everything

but she wasn't anymore.

she was black inside
and her hands were still
and she was like everyone else.

and the things inside of her
that had needed saying
didn't need it anymore.
they were silenced
and dead
stiff

and she was like everyone else.