She is someone I don't know

Attractive, abrasive.
Balerina physique
manner of a burlesque man.
Have mercy on her, she was born pure, now the world has moulded her into
a clichéd figurine
a heroine
a lie.
The choppy haircut and fickle cults
to match the wildness of the music she makes
just by smoking a cigarette.
She knows she'll be a queen when she's dead
a legend
a pastime.
People will look at her with ambiguity
and amusement, jealousy
and intelligentsia.
That is all to be achieved if they be narrow minded, demon worshipping cowards, scorn by solemnity.
She'll never evade prejudice, she'll never settle in paradise, and she'll never complete my life if she was never part of it. She doesn't know me, and I'm almost glad to say I don't know her.