Presence of Reality

Presence of Reality

The thin crown of disbelief
balances on the Queen's thick skull
as she debates the people around her-
are they even real,
do they mean what they say,
is that praise true?

They don't seem to like me,
should I even care, pondered she,
is it my talent, my brains,
won't somebody love me, me,
the real me, I'm right here,
not this stage prop, this costume?

Would they love a Queen ever
if it wasn't for her glitter?

I am disgusted, for sure,
with them, with myself
for trying
for being desperate
for despairing,
and I'm helpless still-
the Queen almost cried-
a life of myth and stories
swallowed readiy by everyone
when I just want to be honest
with someone, anyone
and why won't a light shine over me
where are my undying friendships
my comfortable memories?
Oh where have they disappeared?

They died, my dear, whispered the writer,
died, dead, dust long ago,
shed a tear, will you,
and move on...


These dark poems are just a tad too dark. My apologies good friends of mine!

Yoomi