We watched the screen while we lived the tale
Cinderella stories of broken hearts unlike the tried and true
as we crept on eggshells through the days that made
the growing bones and curves blossoming
how we still felt incomplete.
We thought we had the answers
learned from source of glamorous mags
and photos of how it should be
that in the end conflicted with how it was.
We skipped in darkened corners,
hidden kisses that thrilled the soul
from tepid boys who practiced first
on arms and pillows
and blushing we looked away perhaps in fear
of the feelings rising
and the need to be a part of this whole.
Memories of makeup on shelves
as we peruse the lipstick and pink powder colors
trying to be better than we felt on the inside
and we lifted the cologne and inhaled the scent
of the beautiful boy who bumped us in fast paced hallways
yet lingered just a second too long
and the Polo heady in our heads as we sat dreaming
through social studies of prince charming
and being asked to the ball,
as the shrill bell rings reminding us to move along
we exit heavy doors and walk into the maelstrom
as against the grey cold lockers, he’s kissing her
like a known lover
and we feel the mascara that we shouldn’t have on
fall in black raindrops
as the wallflower wilts
under the memories of yesterday once more.
There were no party dresses for the shy
no words of true love for the needy soul,
just the hopeless feeling that life would always be
this dark and lonely place
and I wonder now where that girl has gone
as she stands makeup free yet beautiful within,
where has she gone, that shy tired girl
who dreamed for the movie as a child
and now lives the world of the belle of her ball today.
Do our minds twist and distort the reality,
do we grow stronger through the acts of the life play
and though the Polo brings a smile
it is in sweetness and a hint of laughter….
where are you now Oh Quarterback God?
Do you think of those days in fondness or despair…
but then again
that part of me no longer cares
for I am whole
and more than enough
living this life of my making.