There was something arrogant about her eyes
Her expression blank
But her eyes tell a different story
Like a storm building behind her eyelids
Blank, yet unforgiving
Her clothes, her shoulder, all holding the same arrogance
Like a queen in the house of a peasant
A silver spoon in a drawer of wooden ones
Yet it doesn’t shine as bright as the other silvers
Though it makes the wood believe it’s the best
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