The Art of Being Genuine to Thyself.
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"Penthesilea The Mercenary" Drawn in toned paper and edited for highlights
A mystery that never seems to appear like one,
Concealing her deepness behind that loudness,
But cut her open, and you'll find seas and forest,
Eyes that have a penchant for brown and verdigris,
At dark midnight, her heart seems to like that abyss,
This nostalgic feeling from time to time
Remembering something that did not even happen in this line,
The feeling that in this realm, she doesn't belong,
Something's missing always searching for that missing song.
Everybody likes to be in a rush,
Always loud, never heard of a peaceful hush,
More often they want things that seem to never last,
Seconds, minutes, and hours went by so fast,
Nauseous about not living the moment,
She understands herself, sometimes never,
Why isn't she interested in things that seem to glitter?
And then that "one day" came, she dropped everything,
Almost frightened 'bout this changeover,
Crossing that line between prim and proper,
However, her desire to escape this matrix was the first to win,
Walking for hours whilst listening to that pleasant ringing,
The echo was loud but never uncomfortable,
She liked that hymn that the albatross sang,
That which embodied loneliness and whistled the song of freedom,
A mystery she felt with this familiarity that soon unraveled her,
She was lost, but that of a different kind,
The greens became the place for her resting,
Whilst the blues were liberating,
the wind became her friend,
A company that she wished to never end.
In this tapestry of existence,
She found the beauty in inadvertence,
That every moment was precious,
For such mortals are bound to be doomed,
That cosmic loom weaves serendipity and chaos,
Where even the tiniest decision may alter the course of reality,
Consequences may ripple across time through eternity,
A haven she found in this wilderness,
This remote place lulled her heart to sleep,
Away from the metallic taste of cityscape,
She basked in the moonlight,
Fanatic of the sky kissing the sea goodnight,
She claimed the horizon as her own,
Joyous, she reverted to herself once more.
This feeling which she called "l",
She crossed that border of warm and cold,
Starting to be aware of things with different hues,
That the composition of life was never meant to have brutalist designs,
Hence, she believes in chances all over again,
That mistakes made inadvertently can be forgiven,
She understands herself a little loud and more,
Her bad and good, all of that was embraced,
She accepted herself with honesty coupled with grace.
That the key to escaping the matrix has always been being "I",
"I" was after all a place for "Me",
Where leniency is fine when it comes to "Me" "I" and "Her",
That "Me" sheltered that forest and seas,
Then, the hues of earth and sounds of nature,
Sometimes she was the artist, poet, traveler, and reader,
The brave wolf that was never tied in a circus,
The lion that she denied and concealed.
Perhaps, it is the anti-dramatic life that she wants,
Not an esteemed hero nor a lone warrior,
A story that remains to be untold in the story of Iliad,
Her story alone, with her plot and denouement,
The free existence that she deserves, without needing to be tragic,
Where her eyes are free from the shackles of expectation,
That her tears had the liberty to flow,
To be fierce without being threatened,
To end life in no one's hands but the reaper,
And to be admired without sacrificing the existence of "Her".
Great topic! Self-consciousness in the literal sense: being aware of oneself.
There is the doctrine that animals can only be considered intelligent if they have a demonstrable sense of self. At the same time, it is denied that this could be the case. I see it differently...
Thanks! :) I named her Penthesilea and tried giving her a different perspective, far from being an amazonian