she has bats in her belfry

 

and they take the form of dark, winged thoughts
sometimes and she shakes her head to erase
them, or at least move them to the back of
her mind where they won't intrude on this
moment.

she remembers too well all the words that
were said, all the promises made and never
delivered, all the pain and sorrow that comes
with growing up and realizing that just because
you want something, that doesn't mean you will
get it.

she used to sit at her window and will someone
to appear, but she gave it up after a couple of
months when it became apparent she was powerless
over the actions of others.

now she sits in the dark when she's alone, waiting
to be turned on, like a lamp, so she can smile and
laugh and feel that it really will be ok.

it's the dark that's the worst, isn't it? the darkness
falls into place and the lights go on in the houses
and she wonders what kinds of lives other people
live.

it's all relative.

it's all temporary.

it's all true.

denise

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