By Mariyah N. Johnson

The small smile on her face is the first thing anybody notices. How it holds pain and pleasure. Mischief and pureness. Her thin dark hair is painted in a way where it looked like if you touched it for too long it would melt at the touch of your hands. And the heavy outfit she is wearing reminds you of a royal curtain, the ones with the velvet reflection. It shines like the sun in the sky, but only at night. Which brings me back to the smile. The mysterious colors are used to signify the undignified way that she hides her true colors behind her flawless, porcelain-like face. Her face is without eyebrows. The expressions that she shows would be of too much regard for sharing with anyone but herself in the darkest of nights. The shadow under her eyes is of deep thought. For you only see those on people of high intelligence, like William Shakespeare or Isaac Newton. Then again, I have never known her to be of any intelligence. Even though she has fooled the world with the secrets that she holds with her parched expression and her expressionless posture. She has an emotion of endless desire and a dream that wanders off further than the secretive land behind her. The dry and boring scenery doesn’t do a good job of masking the beauty of this woman. Someone that is never swooned by the endless amount of uncanny swooning around her. She attacks with the look of an eye, wondering if the land behind her leads to anything worth her while. But sometimes she dreams of her life in the background of her devious smile. Wondering if she would ever be able to be set in the fantasy world that she deceives the shallow world with today.