In Her Own Way Poem by Lynocide the lovely

three words.
classy?
no way, not her.
a high society façade, that is mistaken as intelligence and being 'proper'
oh heck no, not me
classy? more like sassy!
a southern girl born and raised in a city with nothing going for it except its beach.

quirky?
more like freaky!
she reads the strangest books, and knows a whole lot about things no one wants to hear.
nope, not a hipster, or a nerd, or a gamer girl. just plain, strange girl.

feels?
lots of feels. not just from tumblr, or a kawaii overload. its from creepy pasta, delicious and disturbing creepy pasta.

she cant dance, or sing. she cant act or draw. not a writer, cant speak publicly. just an awkward strange girl. her problem is that she has a fiery passion for these exact things. using her hands to reconstruct what flourishes inside. using her body and small bits of talent to communicate the misfit pieces of her mind.
if you'd just listen you'd realize how deep and vast her imagination is. anxiety has slowly begun to strangle the voice that spoke such volumes and 'authorities' who came to inspire but only stifle creativity and individuality.
once criticized by one of the most imaginative people known,
'you aren't any fun. you know how to have fun.'

but she does, just in her own way.