inside the tin

inside the tin
she stands so tall
parading as fast as she can
through paintings and sculptures and passions
of strangers and hazel eyes hidden in dark corners
watching to see what her response will be...
will she stop for long enough to
get trapped in the irony
of a heart at last beating loud enough to call itself alive
yet caught in a cage of oncoming rust
as she cries and longs to be apart of something more
something wet with colors
like war-paint and screams of honor
and cuts of love
that proudly show reddness
not defended
by tin?
inside the tin
she stands so tall
in the middle of a room filled with people
looking for something more
looking at walls covered in canvas that once was blank
looking at a statue of tin
that little do they know
she is looking at them
with a heart that is finally ready