Poetic Justice

The new old me

I see her no more,
The old me,
The one with the dreamy laugh,
And star struck eyes.

I see her face in the mirror,
Or perhaps it only looks like her face.
The days that she would care,
Care whether she looked too pale,
Had sleepless nights, over whether
She'd fail,
Are gone.

She'd smile,
And keep her mouth shut,
When so many words,
Ached to leave her mouth,
Like a never decaying waterfall for
Thought.

Her thoughts flowed like the sea,
Drifted along mindless opinions,
And blew along to the rhythm
Of the wind.

Her eyes we're always so bright,
So full of life.
Her dreams we're always so light,
So full of hope.

I wonder what happened to,
The delicate her,
That would care so easily.
She wouldn't care of her own
Feelings,
Her own meanings.

But she had been replaced,
With someone knew.
Her eyes aren't filled with light,
Or everything that's right.
Instead they're filled with fire,
Fire that can warm up
Antarctica,
As swiftly as a simple note that you
Play,
On your harmonica.

She cares not of the feelings of others,
But see,
It's not her fault.
The old her used to,
More than everything at all.
But others proved,
That their feelings weren't meant to
Be cared for.

See,
Kindness can only be stretched,
To a certain extent.
Her kindness had made her a fool,
In a world where kindness,
Was seen as foolish.

So she tossed it aside,
Like you would to a paper,
A paper of wrongs,
And she corrected them.

Now her words pour out,
Leaving flabargasted faces,
And wild eyes filled with wonder.

Her heart pounds,
At the need for her own approval,
Not like it used to,
In the hands of those who only tried
To crush it in any case.

She stares not in the mirror,
Caring about her appearance.
Now she looks at her reflection,
A smile plastered on her face,
Because all of a sudden she realises,
How much power she had behind her
Eyes,
The same eyes that she had criticized,
So much once,
Not so long ago.

She walks with pride,
Not caring about the whispers behind
Her.
There's nothing wrong with her,
There had been before,
But now,
She was content in her own skin.

Skin she had disregarded the day,
She had replaced it with fear.

So in all honesty,
This is not the new me,
This is the old me,
The one with the passion in her eyes,
And the power in her words.

The one with the strong in her heart,
And the world in her hands.
This was,
This is,
The new old me.

~n.s