Well, what am I to do
with these paisley-patterned prayers?
I’m trapped inside this whitewash-wall
of pretty, placid starers.

These mirror-reflections are scalding me –
a static oil-burn,
The dream of beauty stolen by
unwillingness to learn

But I am getting so, so tired
of waiting for the day
When I will, maybe, finally,
practice what I say.

Oh, and frankly, dear, I’m not so sure
that Psyche had it right –
Sometimes faith is well-deserved,
so trust more than your sight.

A/N: I know, it's been so long, but what's a girl to do? Sorry.