As I sift through an endless pool of photos,
I find that I am not what I claim to be.
There will never be a time when I am prepared.
No one will give me this armor,
Or anything to defend myself with.
Luck will be on my side if I find it along the way.
There is no healing in reminiscing.
There is no love in looking back.
There is no future in standing still.
My claim to happiness and health is a sham.
I stand in front of velvet curtains, bowing.
The show I put on is second to none,
And every eye is fooled at my mask.
When the flowers are being thrown,
My armor starts to drop.
Close the curtains quick, or else they will see
My soul.
And it is quite an ugly one.
My efforts are wasted in looking for suitors,
When I am just a mound of previous hands.
I will take no lover.
I will capture no heart.
I will hide behind the curtains until
The room is empty and the lights come on.
Then I will pick up my armor
And go home to my empty bed.
E.