"The L.A. Geisha is no wallflower.
Her face—hauntingly calm
but eyes ablaze
owns these neon streets,
and graffiti explodes
like a riot around her.
You can almost hear her laughter,
a liquid cacophony
that drowns out the city's hum,
as she swirls amidst downtown chaos.
A vintage car rumbles past;
she doesn't flinch,
only growls back,
a defiant dance in a world
constantly trying to define her."
