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Back to Reality

I take my risks with care.

I know you don't believe it.
You only know
that fragment,
the not-me
of liminal space,
(unreal time)
uprooted from daily context,
where we all exist
in an impossible world,
everything hidden
behind pleasant voices
and borrowed smiles.

In an evening free from:
pressures,
mandates,
orders,
we disguise our banal lives
with costumes,
smoke and mirrors,
pretending
(for a moment)
that we aren't bound by forces
that keep us
driving,
climbing,
always reaching
for that next bright shiny thing.

In that little recess
before the bell rings,
we might wear any disguise,
try on something new.
But my mask scares you too much
to wonder what's beneath.
Now back in our reality
(where life happens)
I long for just a moment
to speak my peace,
tell my truth,
clear things up between us,
so you know there is no agenda,
just a wish we could be allies,
for I am not quite
what you think
after all.

This poem was written for The Sunday Whirl.

3 comments:

brenda w said...

This is excellent, Ann. I related to this all the way down, and loved the way it grabbed me. It's that next bright shiny thing...and all the smoke and mirrors.

The last bit is perfect.

July 7, 2013 at 3:20 PM
oldegg said...

I wonder whether true love is revealing the secrets? The games we play are merely the cut and thrust of engagement hoping that the other side shows their weakness or strength first. I am sure many will relate to this poem.

July 7, 2013 at 7:09 PM
Alice Audrey said...

None of us are quite what we seem, not even to ourselves.

July 9, 2013 at 12:00 AM