My prettiest dress,

and little jingles ringing --


in everyone's ears.

Am I made of glass?

My inner self visible --


and unreachable?

Only noticed in a small circle
and even so
not quite for who you are
      
and what you are able to, almost unneeded
unfortunately that is common
Time keeps going by
      
and later, life forgets
everyone and everything that was known
and then there is no difference anymore

Celebrity is a lie
pinned on a beacon
It does not matter
      
but sometimes you sit around doing nothing
and you feel that it is a pity
for your children, your friends and society
      
that you're not of more importance
or leave behind more
Time keeps going by
      
and life forgets what has been

I do as I like,

Mum stays calm, I don't know if --


I even exist.

So I'm a poet,

which was once just a pose, but --


I conformed to it.

Come in, look at me,

look at my inner world, my --


inner wallpaper.