By Villy Iranpur
I silently followed close behind her silhouette
and watched her live a life
that she would never come to terms with.
that she could never accept as her own.
(i felt all kinds of sorry for her)
There was a distance in her eyes
that no one close to her saw.
There was a sadness in her smile
that was undetected by the outlander
She ungracefully tripped over her beauty
and yet they adored her elegance.
She destructively trapped herself in the walls of her imagination
and they applauded her creativity, her intelligence.
They admired her,
idolized the perfection they falsely saw
Never once questioned it.
With each nod of approval,
they proved to her
how methodically she had mastered the skill of deception
(Oh they were so foolish, so blind)
Throughout the day
I would watch her wear herself down
She continuously ran
from herself.
scared to stop
just incase it all caught up.
(this way she felt safe, free)
Then at the end of the day
I watched her flee to her escape.
Exhausted.
Frustrated
Angry at their blindness.
Yet she told herself that she was relieved,
her secrets were safe
once again.
Behind closed doors
she hastily tore away the fabricated perfection
stepped out of the idealism she had tightly worn around all day
and it was then I saw
what she would never admit to herself:
the hidden sense of relief.
a burden lifted.
Her skin seemed to revitalize.
her eyes seemed to brighten
but only for a few seconds
before the mirror became visible
she caught a glimpse of herself
the underlying layer
and she scorned.
(she was so foolish
looking in from the outside I saw nothing but allurement, delicacy)
With the fabrication off, her wounds and scars manifested,
magnified only by her own vision.
the beauty she was unable to see.
The truth, the naked self,
she saw as an imperfection.
The one she kept hidden
The one she couldn’t think anyone could accept
The one she herself couldn’t come to terms with.
Behind closed doors
I saw her
frustrated with herself
trapped in her mind
drowning in the thoughts she couldn’t control.
she turned out all the lights
detaching from herself
seeing nothing but the blank pages in front of her.
And there,
behind closed doors,
in her cold dark room
I watched her strategically place the pen on the paper
and begin
to write away my life story.
About editor