To Those Who Think They Know The Girl

To Those Who Think They Know,

 

Everybody has secrets,

So does The Girl

To Those Who Think They Know, but really don’t,

The Girl holds her secrets within the cage that is her chest

They don’t see them

Because they only skim its gilded surface, blind to the flighty bird hidden within

 

On the outside,

They see an arrogant, know-it-all whose predatorial voice stretches across the wooden desks of every room,

 

A lion who is in fact a measly mouse, meek and mortified not wanting the world to see the mask crumble

 

On the outside,

They see a healthy, budding flower full off of the warmth and companionship of family and friends surrounding it,

 

A flower who is in fact a starving sprout, sallow and sans-satisfaction not wanting to cling onto those unwanting

 

On the outside,

They see unforgiving steel existing only to take space and repel all the elements from getting within

 

A wall of steel who is in fact contorting clay, conscious and callow not wanting to be cast out, straining to fit a compressing mold

 

All these secrets hidden like dirty vices

Dirty vices that aren’t so very hidden if one cared to delve for the heart upon her hidden sleeve, 

One so buried under an ill-fit sweater of perceptions

Maybe then they could see the sewed-tight emotions bursting at the seams,

Emotions, all just wanting to be free

 

Sincerely, 

The Girl