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You’re not real.

You’re just a figure that floats through my imagination;

a concept that crawls through my consciousness

telling me that I’m bigger than I ought to be, that I’m stronger than I deserve to be.

You’re the pair of smiling eyes crafted as a mirror and a window for beauty everlasting

but I only ever see myself in passing.

You’re not honest.

You’re just a figment of my fascination with the unattainable

a desperate endeavour disguised as true depravation

making me believe that I’m not ravenously rotting away as I am

that there’s something wrong even with the way that I stand.

You’re the unhealthy selflessness that leaves me unfurnished, creating my chirality

so I only ever see myself in passing.

You’re not a secret.

You’re as blatant as the brutal bereavement that encloses us

as palpable as the pretence I’ve put up all along

keeping me locked inside the creature I have become

that waits as the world passes.

You’re my aching silence save for but one word scrawled across my entire being

but no one ever sees me

and I only ever see myself in passing.

Here in the meadow I hide away from Envy and my own little Pride

It gets overwhelming sometimes, but here the sun always shines

A spotlight to remind me of all the troubles behind me

Not so much to comfort or console, but to highlight things that make me whole

What a shame it is these self-same things that are draining

They sit there, just beyond the meadow, where it never stops raining

Here in the meadow I hide from the nameless faces and eyes and the lure of the wild

Exigent, like the cries of a child

But here the grass is gentle beneath my feet

It replenishes me even as I walk back to my defeat

There’s not much shelter here in the open

They still stare at me through glass that has been broken

as if it was I that made me so hopeless

Here there is at least some reprieve

The water flows by calmly, nothing like a madwoman’s screams

Here in the meadow I hide from Envy and Pride and nameless faces and eyes

He says he wants what’s best for me; that I get what I deserve

What reward is there in my place in the world?

Next to the trees I feel strong. So here in the meadow I hide. But I can’t stay long

for precious little Pride cries out to be fed every time

Now it’s such a mess

friends will say ‘’I saw it coming’’

cousins will say ‘’I told you so’’

but how was one to know

a curse could saunter in

disguised as something brave

dig a hole and leave a body to grow too thin

what a waste

A theft of irreplaceable innocence

in its wake an untrusting maleficence

defined by a single scalding experience

that has to learn to yield when faced with the real thing

when all it has known is the burning sting

of a deceitful counterfeit copy

crumbling when held up to the light