#lyricnarrative
Letters Beneath the Mirrored Sea
By Bellie-boo
“Far beneath this sea of my own forthcoming,”
I see the little girl inside—
not even three feet tall, yet defiant in her stride.
Sure, she’s a little devil,
but I cannot simply let her be;
her fire, untamed, keeps burning me.
“A Monster. The Saint. A Liar. The Fighter.”
Ah yes, let’s play dress-up—a game of desire.
Which mask did I choose, which flame to inspire?
“Always begging for a part to play,”
hoping a role might show the way,
yet none fit right, no script would stay.
“To live as me, To die straight.”
Ah yes, how dramatic I could be—
exploring worlds too vast for me.
“How sweet, little one; I cannot let you be.”
“Black roses erode,” you whisper low;
what beauty, to watch the dark bloom go.
Like marble softening into bone,
you surprise me, child, with what you’ve shown—
a quiet strength I never thought my own.
“Send me a postcard.”
I always liked a plan—
knowing what to do and where to stand.
I’m sorry, little one; there’s no shortcut,
no turn-around, no skipping the fight—
some sad things can’t be unlived or made right.
“To be killing me / to be / what I / want to / be.”
Little one, breathe—your fire burns bright in me;
no cage of fear, just possibility.
“I’m ready to take your hand too.”
Your courage hums—a steady ring;
sometimes I wonder which of us learned to sing.
“Oh little one, your voice is the key,
to unlocking the love once lost in me;
every spark you give remakes what could be.”
“What if I said I loved you?”
I’d say I love you too—
though I know belief still hides from view.
“Because the you I see in the mirror,
I have not always treated with care;
some days, I wasn’t even there.”
“Tenderly binding you to me.”
If this reflection’s what I see,
then I’d kiss the glass—set both of us free.
“Thank You for Sending Me a Postcard.”
Signed—
the self who learned to stay, not guard.
Oct 29, 2025
Oct 29, 2025 at 11:12 PM UTC