Elly Lily: blogmas: entry 13 "feminine, a poem"

Tuesday, December 13

blogmas: entry 13 "feminine, a poem"

Lacy skirts and twirling dresses once alive and dancing in the sun.
Now lye dead, wrinkled and stale sitting on my bed like a child sleeping from a day of play.

I perch on a chair the shell of my shoulders relaxed as a thin fabric of blue drapes over my small frame. I lean in closer like a bird ready to take flight and peer into the glass watching the girl looking back.

Her hair is soft and long, a mane of curls.
One lock travels down past her waist and tickles her bare leg.
Her skin is pearl white as smooth as the ocean on a quite Sunday.

Her eyes are the doors of her soul,
the porcelain surface tries to hide her thoughts but they burn bright like a sunset on the first night of winter.
Her lips are silky, a shade of pink like a ballet shoes you see dancers lace.
They open the slightest bit allowing breath to pass through.

She stares at this reflection, a mystery of wonder.
The girl staring back she had seen before,
a stranger attached by a string of familiarity.

She is the final touch to the room as she sits on the rose colored cushion chair like a doll someone left there.
Her mother once told her how special she was as they sat in the light, surrounded by flowers, a rainbow of shapes.
Her mother a woman of beauty and a dark secret that all tried to solve.
She had left long ago to a world in the sky.
Now the little girl is older and she sits in her room.
A portrait of perfection also has doom.

The little girl she once was.
Taught to love and not to be loved.
To give her heart to others not to keep it to herself.

Her eyes distract her as they move up above to her heart on a shelf waiting to be loved.

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