It was difficult to sort,
people referring to “people like her,”
telling her who she was.
They deemed it their responsibility,
filling-in blanks she didn’t know she had.
It was difficult to be herself
when she was “one of them,”
a dehumanized thing that still had a heart.
©May 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.