Replicas and Rain

This is a room of superficial reflections;
filled only with those
who want mirrors to see themselves in
Rehearsed giggles,
and color-coded penmanship
Oh-so snobby posturing,
and too much glitter in the air
If it rained they’d probably all melt
into glistening puddles of loveless limelight
But there’s an angel across the hall
who hates her middle name, and her brown eyes;
with obvious faults, and a fiercely gentle temper
If it rained she’d get wet, and dance in it alone;
kindhearted brat that she is
She’s the kind of girl who’s only
fishing for compliments
because she’s sure she’ll never need them
And how I long to leave this circus;
to twirl with her for a fervent forever
As these clowns will only ever know
how to make me smile

Poetry from Thought-Box by Shane Windham
E-book and paperback now on Amazon.com

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