Wallflower
In the rain I stand
pressed against your window glass,
warm and cold the liquid runs
where my tears mingle.
Do you see me here
longing for the warmth,
the embers stirred to flame
lighting the room
where she sits beside you,
appearing self possessed and free,
a fake-smiling mannequin of me?
Why can't I turn away,
walk out of this self barred prison
into another, happier landscape?
Weeping wallflower, trembling, naked soul . . .
the jagged flashes push me closer,
bright hot lightening bolts of fear
flattening me against your wall.
Copyright, September 9, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
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