Her hair, thick and golden, falls at her waist,
Coarse and mangled, it has lost the softness it once possessed.
The sweet smell of childhood no longer clings to her skin,
Instead, a seductive perfume, chanel.
Her lips, blood red, plump, not seen as innocent, but enticing.
Behind all of her beauty lies that frightened little girl,
A blade of grass among red oaks.
Looking up at the sky, yearning for sunlight,
However shaded by the tall branches of her elders.
She sits inside the silhouette of a woman,
Her bosom wrapped in tight blue cotton,
Her nails masquerading in auburn paint,
Her eyes bathing in bronze shadow,
The color of sand meeting the crystal blue glimmer in her eyes.
Swimming in her own depression and sorrow,
Her fear tries to break out, clawing at her insides,
But it is camouflaged among fake smiles and scheduled laughter.
A brisk winter breeze sweeps her hair behind her shoulder,
It reflects the cold sun, shining like a copper star,
Trying so hard to outshine the streetlamps and headlights,
Washed out by the moon, it fades back into the black sky.
She can’t turn back and become that unborn seed,
Nourished and warm under the protection of the soil,
But she cannot move forward, and sprout wings
Like the eagles that fly so freely above her.
Stuck in the middle, unable to live in the now,
She frets, sweat dripping down her temples,
Thighs tightening in her seat,
Her finger twitches.
A pencil drops, the click echoes off classroom walls,
Heads turn.
She cannot bare the pressure,
Her mind snaps like the tip on her number two pencil,
Screaming, shouting, crying, flailing her arms in the air
Swatting at the stress that swarms her body.
She fell, and sobbed, and yearned to be alone,
The next day, she came to class perfectly in tact,
It goes to show that chaos is a temporary feeling.