Today; life is not magazines, not soap operas, not
a story told at bedtime with charging hero’s, with
ever-after’s, with the intrinsic promise of a life always
filled without request, without notice and always
just where they said it would be

Sometimes she can’t bear to breathe, when she
can’t adjust her thinking toward a future she
doesn’t believe in, doesn’t feel in her soul, her
eyes can’t see past the edge of where she stops
and the sharp outline of reality begins

She was an unasked-for princess, always a glow on
someone’s horizon she went though life un-bandaged,
unbroken, untouched and ejected in to a world she
can’t now see but for self-created desolation and an
utter lack of feeling about who she is

More in-tune to personal woe to limited capacity; her
unequipped parents went finding the lost among the
found, they created her in a bubble of steel; all happiness
and soft landings…with no recourse but to learn all
of nothing about the world

She could blame herself for not knowing learning being
alive when she had the chance…there are glimmers
of this, small shafts of light falling on slightly distant ideas
all rolled in a dream of falling and failure she knows but
can never know that she knows

She floats; here to there from bed to bed from her soul
she weeps when she weeps at all…a cry found with dry
eyes and a staggeringly serious belief about the utter
encapsulation of love into a very small, hidden and
never-opened box

Today; she finds nothing of what she looks for…she
looks for nothing…never finding is a burden she
shares with no one thinking she is happy only because she
has never known a difference, a contrast of black and white
and grey