Off in a place
with walls of secret words
carpeted in sheets of moonstone
and a ceiling of thatched sunflowers
resides a girl.

This is not a place
for an ordinary girl,
who parties till midnight
and runs off with boyish men;
no, no, no.
So she is not an ordinary girl,
who acts then speaks.

In fact, for being
a red head she hardly speaks
at all. She has crystal blue eyes,
and the body of a ballerina;
though she has never been athletic.

And in this place
she hides.

Away from the chaos
of family or friends,
away from the pain
of broken hearts and
lost wishes.

Her voice is strong
though her will is weak.
People take her for granted
and leave her on the street.

But this place is hers,
to weep and to think.
Too bad I am her and
it is in my head...