She used to dream of being an actress
dressed in the finest masks
people would gather
encircle her in warmth
“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.