each little flake
falling
all
around
Her

not blue but stark white
clear as can be
whatever one wants it
to become

when each little bit
is grouped together
and becomes whole
to hide the hollowness within
each is numb

forgotten

no longer what it should be

status quo

indistinct

what they wanted Her to be
which is exactly what She tried to become

a mare now, but then a filly
who wished only to define Herself
with no cut-crystal ice to go by
only the want of others
to tell Her that She has meaning
that She's happy and loved
that She's a princess

She, the mare with a coat of snow
and a mane so out of place
the lonliest of them all
wanders through the snowy wood

She spots a snowflake in the flurry around Her
sees it split
and watches the halves drift apart of their own accord
throat sore
and with tears in Her eyes

She pretends to forget
and moves on