A CRY FOR HELP ISN’T ALWAYS SOMETHING TO BE HEARD (II)

 

She used to dream of being an actress

a woman

dressed in the finest masks

people would gather

encircle her in warmth

and spotlights.

“Here I am,” she would say –

or think –

She can’t remember.

 

She knew how to cry on cue

how to force a smile,

laugh with her waist but not her eyes.

She couldn’t make people believe in her story

she couldn’t show them

peril, plight, struggle.

 

Who knew that under the flowery tops

and loud trousers

were black socks

and a girl walking in a world tinted grey …

 

If you haven’t already, take a look at the first poem in this series.

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