There she stands, watching the grey people,  they walk mindlessly along the bland colored earth.

she stands with the colors blending, beautifully wild,

splatters waving their fists at the sky,

the paint's drips dance like spirits across the once plain page, the graphite tugs on the sleeves of her sweater,

they don't care, those grey people, for they are content with unoriginalty,

death instead of life, not noticing rage filled reds and music tinted blues, 

these beings glaze over something hidden to be seen,

kissing the feet of the plain,

so she screams in frustration, arms swung across her chest,

yelling at them to open their eyes!

they close them tighter, pointing and laughing,

content with breathing oblivious emptiness, not knowing they could be full,

she runs at them with paint in her hands, smearing it across their faces,

their cheeks now dirtied with orange, their noses tinted with pink,

the grey people's eyes were now opened,

noticing the dancing purples and mermaid grees, the sound of pencil against paper was now tangible to their senses,

grooves of a brush  that lay on a canvas seem to be something of love,

the girl smiles down at the faded grey people, that now play with the sunlit yellows, and sand colored beige,

she twists her paint stained hair, laughing out loud with joy,

seeing discovery, and smiling the most passionate smile,

the smile of a girl who loves, needs, art more than the air itself.