A poised and stoic girl
Balancing on her pedestal
The very one she built too small
(And too good)
To hold anyone else
She falters under the weight of her costume
And never reaches out for help
She prays to nobody for intimacy
Thinking no-one else will listen
Then drops frivolities on the people
Trying to make her dreams come true
We cheer her on, but she never thinks
To look out into the crowd

So she digs her ditch a little deeper
And reapplies her make-up
But she is only keeping out
The people that she wants in
And nobody can touch a heart
Kept more than an arm's length away
She looks and never glances back
She misses all of her cues
And her brown eyes, always blank,
(Except for the ghost of what she fails to see)
Don’t give us anything.
And even if she knew it all
She would never understand
And even when she is chapters ahead
She is reading the wrong book

And when the act is over-
At least we will know what flowers we should bring