the wall around her heart

It began with bricks, I guess,

built from the abuse above.

The big-smile baby knew no more,

no less. But she had no floor

or roof or wall, her

boundaries spliced,

her ego nil.

Her cement did set quite early.

It took years to even see that.

Dreams of locks not working

haunt the trusting times.

The little girl got trapped

with owning, booing crap.

To escape takes more than hair.

Say ‘boo’ to the witch that’s there.

This poem is number 24 in a month’s worth of poems for NaPoWriMo.

Inspired by today’s theme of masonry, mine is a Jung-inspired take on Rapunzel.

A poem by the ‘who is the fairest’ mirror

I’ve had to lie, for most of my life

to princesses, witches. Oh, what strife.

Who cares who’s the prettiest of all ‘dem t’ings?

Whoever asks the question is really disturb’ing.

So what do they see in that reflection of mine?

I’m guessing a false kind of self divine.

Cos your real self ain’t a patch on that fake.

What do you want today? Transparent? Opaque?

When you ask me a question, don’t expect the truth.

‘Cos if you look too hard, you’re just chasing youth.

For NaPoWriMo Day 14