Roses I despise thee,
And Violets you lied.
In deceit you left me,
Alone in the pool I cried.

Roses you promised,
Foretold and foresaw,
Violets you stood there,
Frozen while I was raw,

Red promised love,
But blue spoke of sorrow,
Which to believe?
The question left me hollow.

Roses you are thorned,
And Violets your colour says it all,
Your appearance screams I was warned,
And yet I still took the fall.

Roses red I despise thee,
And Violets blue you lied.
You never told me all to see,
But I knew pain wasn’t forever as I cried.

I sit in front of my dressers mirror,
Stare at the plain adequate girl staring back at me,
Is she enough?
Can she walk out this door and hold her head up high?

No.

And so I pull,
And tweak
And brush
And dry,

I look at the girl in the mirror again,
Her hair is done up,
Pretty and well kept,
But dead dry and limp because of damage,
And I can’t help but think it represents my inner self,

Though dead,
I look substantially better,
But is she enough?
This girl staring back at me?
Can she hold her head up high with the confidence of knowing what she wants?

No.

And so I apply base,
Concealer,
Try to fix my uneven complexion and blemishes,
Eye shadow,
Then eye liner,
Mascara,
Lipstick….

And again I stop to look at the girl,
She looks like women now,
As every feature is defined and highlighted,
Her complexion even,
Blemish free…

But is it enough,
This women staring back at me,
As the make up smudges and rubs off,
She’ll become the drab adequate girl underneath it all,

I can put on beautiful clothes,
Amazing jewellery,
But I remain the plain adequate girl that stares back at me,

With her sad eyes,
Set jaw,
Lips that barely ever quirk upwards with a hint of a smile,
That girl who’s cried so many eyeliner smudging tears,
That girl who fears,
Everything,
Everyone,

No matter how much I do,
To hide her away,
Keep her from the world,
No matter how many layers of,
‘Happy’,
I try to mask her with,

She will come out,
As my clothes grow rumpled,
My jewellery loses its shine,
Its glow,
As my hair turns grey,
My make up smudges,
I become her again,

And is she enough?

I stare at her long and hard,
I notice the high cheekbones,
The strong set features,
I realize this girl is only adequate,
Because she believes it,
Only plain because it’s all she’s ever been convinced to see,

With all her wear and tear,
She is beautiful.
And so I grab my make up remover,
Wipe away the mask suffocating me,
I shake my hair out to its full volume,
I remove the jewellery that’s cold against my warmth,

And I look at this plain adequate girl,
Not so plain and adequate anymore,
And I ask myself,
Is she enough?
Enough to face the world proudly as whom and what she is?
Is she?

Those sad eyes stare back at me with a new found spark,
Those set lips quirk up into a hint of a sly smile,
And she winks at me.

Yes.

What is this diminutive?
This quiddity of how we live,
This good and bad,
And right from wrong,
This insane concinnity,
We’ve followed for so pitifully long.

We need learn and ruse our minds,
To understand all types of kinds,
For man is not salubrious,
And all we seek is dubious,
We need to come to understand,
We all are good but all still bad,

We all are docile but maleficent,
Average and Magnificent,
We choose to be one or the other,
One or another,

Some skilled to beguile,
Others only know how to be difficile,
We all are weakened by indigence,
And we all are to this world exiguous,

So what is this surquedry of whose good and bad,
just because some may be of duende,
And others temerity mad,

No matter what you may do or say,
Your actions my apodictic opinion will not sway,
We will always be of human nature,
What is this good and bad nomenclature?

We are human and not irrefragable,
And the definition of unstable,
So be thee good or bad,
Be thee happy,
Be thee sad,
Be thee sane and be the mad,
We all can be good but we still stay with some bad.

Humpty Dumpty
Sat on a wall;
Humpty dumpty;
This stories not about him at all;

But rather a tale
Of a heart gone askew;
A tale of pain; broken heartedness
And nothing new

A heart bathed in blood,
In pain and misdeeds,
A heart bathed in insecurities;
And its doubts that it bleeds;

So this heart;
It was bandaged;
Fixed up but never again new;
This heart of bled tears;
all emotions did rue;

Till the faithful day it came across a wall;
A wall so high; so spiked and jagged;
It pinched and bruised and tore
The heart ragged;

But the heart did it climb
To get to the top;
It refused its beats of its pain;
And it refused to stop;

The wall it was heavy; large and stone cold;
But this heart knew this wall
That was its fears in a solid mould;

But this heart;
It was cracked; it was bleeding till dry;
Its beating was slow now;
More a whisper than a cry;

Till the heart stopped beating;
Let go and fell into the sky;
All this humpty dumpty watched from his seating;
As the heart fell to its silent lullaby;

Till the heart hit the ground;
Lay there stone still;
Without a sound;
Just wallowing in forgotten will;

And all the kings horses,
And all the kings men,
Could not put back together;
What was the hearts final end.