Blurred

Svelte little girls are running in circles behind my eyes.
When I was blind everything was a blur.
Thin ankles looked thick.
My hair is falling out with the lines of age,
the lies of age and I hear a snicker behind my back.
I used to enjoy that snicker but now it is a poison bullet.
Pretty bones and soft brown hair.
The dreams they promised to prepare.
I feel deflated.
I used to be fire.
Am I part of the exclusivity now?
I'm left waiting.
There is no reply
....
....
There never will be 'til the day I die.

My lips are always painted but the colour has changed.
My pretty bones, milky white and raised.
How easy it was to return to default.
When imagination comes to a grinding halt.
You lied to me.
Your perfection is obscene.
No one said you could wake me from my dream.

Previously published in Ophelia Street.