Dreamer

 

I watch my reflection in a shattered mirror
Tracing the anguish within every line
Fingertips stinging, it just doesn’t matter
As pain meets with pain of a similar kind
I follow the jaggedly smash-shattered pieces
And think what an irony stares back at me
A face of distortion and numb disconnection
A spectre I never intended to be
I take a step backward and study me closely
My image beginning to slowly improve

Silently cursing the power that holds me
I dig for the will and the courage to move
Hearing a whisper, I feel I am falling
And bracing myself believe this is the end
I wake to a wind that has scattered the mirror
And find me now safe in the arms of a friend

 

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Virginia Holliday

She sits there looking silly with her hair piled high,
And she grins with no teeth and stifles a sigh;
She waves like a fool when a ‘Vette drives by,
Then she giggles at the grass and the sky.

She’s no more than five or six, but she’s really forty-two,
And she always wears a flower in the buckle of her shoe.
She’s frightened of her shadow, and she loves the color blue,
And she sketches in a book she got from Uncle MacAloo.

She wonders why they laugh at her, whatever she might say,
But she pretends that they are all just people in a play.
She heard her grampa say one time that she was born that way,
But it really doesn’t matter to Virginia Holliday.