I am a living statue, set in stone to play a part
With that never changing smile, with that never beating heart
I feel their eyes upon me, yet they pass on by
Only here for their amusement, standing here until they die
When age begins to take me, my beauty will not hold
I will begin to crack and break, I will crumble and unfold
And there will stand a woman, they will see that's all I am
An imperfect, broken woman just holding out her hand
Holding out for understanding, holding out for something more
Holding out for arms of comfort, on and on forever more
About the Creator
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At My Wits’ End
Life is about taking out the trash and calling it trash because you have every reason to. It wasn't meant to be linear, they say. But the times you tried to make it straight led to problems, and you didn’t have the tools to put any of it to use. You don't put your right shoes on the right feet; you put the left shoes on the left feet. The grey hardened slab will trip you up anyway.
By Caitlin Charltonabout 12 hours ago in Psyche
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