Markers

They told her to stay inside the lines,
That to wander would be rude.

“Choose a path wisely,” they told her,
“You know the best ones are smooth.”

Hands filled with her own destiny,
She thought long and she thought hard.

She cared not for the opinions of others,
She had no egos she had to soothe.

Her thoughts were hers and hers alone,
Now was the time for one last play for power; one final move.

She put in hours of work,
Many days and may nights.

She woke up in the early hours of dark,
Then she worked into the night.

Then the day came sure as the sun rose,
She packed everything up, every last bit of herself.

A pretty smile masked her nerves,
She left her home that day in the finest of clothes.

She set out towards them,
Aware of what lay ahead.

She knew what was coming,
But felt no regret or dread.

They urged her,
They yelled and they jeered.

The expected her to take the smooth path,
It was obvious; it was clear.

With one defiant look,
A glimmer of of spite.

She took the second path,
Even though it was broken, baron, and dry.

She heard the gasps,
And the expletive they shouted.

Then she pulled out her markers,
The sky filled with the millions of colours they spouted.

The lines were no more,
The paths were gone.

She mixed them together,
Groups, barriers, fences – now none.

 

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