Facebook has told me that it’s been more than 14 days till my last post, so I thought, maybe I should do something…and then I remembered that I still have a handful of poems locked away in the recesses of my PC.
This one I wrote on one of my girly days. You see, most of the time I hang around in patched-up jeans and worn-out T-shirts. Sometimes, though, I feel this strange urge to prettify myself. Then I’ll put some make-up on and wear a skirt, or boots, and I’ll combine impossible colors like pink and orange, and I’ll feel oddly light and bird-like, like a fairy tale princess or elven queen, floating above the rest of the world – a world that sees an adult, and doesn’t know I’m only a little girl playing dress-up.
I wrote this poem on the bus, after having seen my own reflection in the glass walls of the bus stop; a reflection of a girl I hardly recognized as me.
*****
MIRROR, MIRROR
You walk, no, strut, among the crowd,
you say there’s only you.
(That’s wonderful, I envy you,
I only hope it’s true.)
You flaunt yourself without a care,
your pride is without end.
(Like Wendy said to Peter Pan,
it’s your biggest pretend.)
You say you need no arms to hold,
no comfort and no roots.
(I still say all your confidence
is in your high-heeled boots.)
*****
Angelika Rust 