Facade
They say I’m rich.
My head held high and swinging hips
belie despair
nose in the air
denying thoughts of childhood demons
that lurk deep within the creases
of my conscience.
I turn outward for
accolades and tainted praise
to validate my living,
but harsh words like stones
bruise my dark skin.
Yet still I limp along, this solo jaunt,
Forlorn.
Moments of reflection
turn to trepidation,
that’s when it comes.
Shhh… knowing hands
secretly tug at the hems
of my innocence,
gone.
You say my shame defines me.
Wasted years of wonder
and senseless blunders
fuel my cry.
I fear when knowledge finally comes,
my light is gone.
They say I’m rich?
Copyright © Clevia Bedeau | Year Posted 2011
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