I am the girl
who watches you
from the far end of the room,
clipped pen and journal spread out
in front of her,
while stirring the dregs in her teacup.

I am the girl
who has her chin on her hand
and her bangs in her eyes,
spinning stories in her head
on the bus rides home.

I am the girl
with hair disarray,
and a smile too crooked,
singing a nonsense tune
as she passes you by.
 
I am the girl
through the looking glass,
across the street
and behind you.

I am the girl
who's face you've seen
in a thousand places,
and have forgotten.
 
I am the girl who wants to be loved.


These Pretenses
Copyright 2001 Alexiel