By: Thought


She's been here for a while, maybe a year and a half

Sitting in this web of varying contradictions and comments

That she laughs off and dodges

Playing the game that certain people are so familiar with

Constantly holding her breath

In case



And then they spoke to the translucent figure

Understand, they said, there's a half of you we want to see

And a half for which we're just not ready.

Or perhaps, in another reality, it's not that at all

Don't break, it'll change everything and you don't like change

She repeats it to herself in the mirror every morning while she's putting on her make-up

While just outside the door, just beyond the frosted window

They're going about their days with open hearts and open minds

While she puts on her paste and powder mask and hides.

It's a bitter sort of story, either way you look at it

A tale that has been told over and over

But not entirely like this.

You see, they said, there are two exact moulds

You can't have them both, you have to choose

But the translucent figure doesn't say a thing

Not quite ready to define any edges, any solid image

She's not going to say it because she doesn't like change

And she knows that even if the world is fine with it

Nothing will ever be quite the same

And she's not willing to chance that – hypocrisy at its worst

She knows this character flaw and shrugs it off with a careless laugh

It'll get better in time

I'll grow out of this, she tells herself

I'll be brave, maybe when I'm twenty-five

She reassures herself, it's not secrecy, it just never comes up in conversation

Not that she'd notice, she's far too

Adept and practiced at avoiding awkward topics

And when they ask

She'll laugh and say

You can't believe

I'm everything I write

And they won't hear the fear in her voice

And neither will she, she's gotten so used to