She was real,
more than the image in the mirror could reveal,
more than the dehumanizers could steal.
She was sunshine happiness when birds were calling,
tears at midnight on the bathroom floor.
She was hopes and dreams and human longing,
a love greater than hatred’s roar.
©February 2020, Christina Anne Hawthorne
About Christina Anne Hawthorne
Alive and well in the Rocky Mountains. I'm a fantasy writer who also dabbles in poetry, short stories, and map making. My Ontyre tales are an alternative fantasy experience, the stories rich in mystery, adventure, and romance. Alternative fantasy? Not quite steampunk. Not quite gothic. In truth, the real magic is in those who discover what's within.