((More poetry for RAF. <3 ))
I slip the crummy VHS into the slot
Broken down and old from years of use
I’m four and innocent, or maybe not
But still I’m waiting for the show
The curtains rise! The lights flip on!
The eyes of the little girl are deep murky ponds
The story’s about a unicorn and a magician
And I have heard it before, even when I saw it first
For the tape and the discs and the lips all tell the same tales
The spotlights change position and the crowd stirs
I’m sixteen and my friend merely plays at kindness
Or maybe that’s the lie so that the pain didn’t hurt
The story I remember and I use its words
The cruel refrain of the villain’s song
Chosen for a part of my own story
I come home to measured screams and broken sobs
I watch like suffering is a spectator sport
I throw out my platitudes to them both
I can feel the lie in it, and it makes me sick
I do not dream of unicorns that night.
The characters are all different in this act
There’s Haggard, and a castle, and a tiger walks in
I’m nineteen and I’ve found it at last
My long-awaited journey down memory lane
I slip the disc into the slot and exit Life, stage right
Newer meaning comes into it now
The weight of a tired, bitter woman
I can look back upon myself
Through the Time I can see clearly
Or perhaps Time obscured it
I see in these frames my own regret
This curtain falls, but the play goes on.
We hold our favorite tales near and dear
As they become stronger, never weaker
Although the story remains the same
Our own grows ever deeper.