Standing in the midst of the crowd,
People walk past and around her.
Her face is fixed in stoicism.
Her eyes are soulless.
She stares straight into the distance
At something without form.
She is boxed into a corner,
Molded to compliment a stereotype.
She is forced to live a life,
One that was planned for her.
One that she disliked with a vengeance.
But never the one that she dreamt of.
Her hands are tied,
Like the prisoner that she is.
Her eyes are blindfolded,
Forced to follow the flow of water.
People’s perception of her,
Forced down her throat.
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