trapped in a body
that is both too old for me-
and too young.
she's been around for sixteen years, but looks as if she is fourteen,
and hosting a mind of fifteen.
never reaching maturity,
because she lacks feminity.
her step is too light and too heavy,
her voice, too soft when it matters,
her face retaining the androgyny of childhood,
and the tears, too.
painted like she is sixteen in garish pinks and blacks,
heeled boots and lacquered nails,
short skirts and cropped tops
a child playing dress-up in an adult's world.
a child's mind in a child's body,
but this girl is not a child,
she grew up before her friends,
and stopped before she had quite finished.
Autumn 2018
YOU ARE READING
Unbroken • Poetry
Poetryeven the leaves will not break beneath her touch "All art is quite useless." - Oscar Wilde
