By: Ashleigh Cheshire - May 31, 2022
She needs asylum from the conversational fiasco
Because what she must be feeling needs to be interpreted in private.
As if she is going to snap,
She sheds her party dress in her bedroom
To write fiction in her underclothes;
To outwit the phantom that keeps her from speaking
Unless it all makes proper sense;
A fix to feel rational and less plain.
Her vanity mirror stares back as she trembles over the middle of her sentence.
She wants the chance to read about herself after
But she has yet to hear from her secrets, the intuitive ones.
It is a sickness and a punishment to not master the self.
She makes wagers in earnest as to what thoughts
might be present beyond her edged rituals of self-containment.
Go on. You might like what you create, Perhaps
(Your pseudonym can be Perhaps)
If you do it simply. You worship
Others’ lines of dialogue for those funny feelings
That poise you to be under the influence
Of enlightenment and entertainment.