She is the girl in the bright-red headphones

dreaming of becoming an actress.

That’s how the world sees her

and (admittedly) at times that’s how she sees herself.

But in her dreams she’s a phoenix,

eyes glowing mighty,

hair the same colour as the buds

she uses to protect her ears from outsider doubts.

In her dreams there are no brick walls

no concrete roads or soot-stained clouds.

When morning comes,

her dreams (once lucid) disappear

and the world sees her clipped-winged

and ashen like city streets

not knowing that she’ll be reborn again by nightfall.

Not knowing there’s a world full of reds

oriental blue and yellows that only she can imagine.


Her world may be grey to an outsider

but she walks on pastel toes when the night comes,

leaving neon footprints in her wake.



This is the third and final part to a series of poems. Click below for the first and/or second part if you missed them:

A Cry for Help (I)

A Cry for Help (II)


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