Unconventional

She has her books

And everything that blooms

She loves music

Only few can figure out

She has an undeniable sadness

And unconventional madness

But she is art herself

She loves anything

Others think may regard as nothing

So she created her own world

Where everything there is hopeful

It’s not a place nor a home

It’s unconventional thoughts

Perhaps 100s or thousand of those

And she want to turn it

To something that glows

She doesn’t know how and when

But all she knows is she will

Someday

Even if she is unconventional

In other words, a weird being.

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Unconventional

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