So she sits there, poised, her elbows resting
On the arms of a mahogany chair;
The bangs of her hair are arranged just at
The right degree—at ease and comfortably slanted—
In order to cast a protective shade
Over the cold uncertainty that still flickers in her eyes.
Her fingers, interlocking, is an attempt
To stop herself from yearning for a hand to hold,
And she sits there, with her legs crossed
To trick those muscles into forgetting
What it was like to walk beside him
Under the cherry blossom trees.
Such wondrous, magnificent poetry.
So she sits there. With great consideration and precision,
She tugs away the floating anxieties of a girl, shoves the
Boisterous quirkiness into silence, and her innocent appreciations
Into carefully chosen interests that represent womanhood.
Abruptly, she redefines herself through the power of will,
And avoids mirrors at all cost.
So she poses for the camera, purposefully,
Occupying this moment with her practiced grace.
This picture, after it’s been transferred, cropped,
Colour-toned and uploaded onto her Facebook page
Is meant to be adored.
An intelligent dreamer at her best.
As she obscures the truth with a smile and
Mends the ever-changing world with meticulous
Automatic correction, like Microsoft Word underlining
A sentence that is grammatically awkward, or
A word that is misspelled. The brilliant intricacies of her mind
Delete and reinsert the letters of reality—
Ushering the story towards its rightful conclusion,
Against all odds.
This is how it’s supposed to end.
So she sits there, poised, like a wounded goddess
Falling out of love, the same way she’s fallen into love
Waiting to be seen, wanting to be remembered
Dreaming of becoming the thing he has lost.