Little miss Christine
Looked in the mirror
To say, "I'm pretty."
Herself turned ugly
She stroked cracks
Asking, "What happened to me?"
Charcoal eyes vacant
Painted lips parted --
Virtue replaced by amusement --
Fists breaking mirror
Shards breaking skin
Saying, "I will never be her."
I decided a poem entry because an old friend of mine complained how I never share my poetry. That's because I write a lot... it's just that not a lot of it is good.
Honestly, when I was a 5th grader, I always dreamt to be an author. I wanted nothing more. I wanted to be the next C.S. Lewis or Stephen King... or just someone who may not write something fate-altering, but someone who wrote something so marvelous that it struck the imagination and inspired someone who would write amazingly. I guess I like the idea of being the power behind the throne. I freeze up in the limelight, but I like being the one who makes decisions. Whatever...
Anyway, the poem is mostly about myself reflecting on where I am in life and where I had always imagined myself. Yeah, a little depressing... I don't handle disappointment very well.
I thought the new layout was rather appropiate for most of my entries.
