She is standing in my skin, dancing joyfully
She wears my face with a painted smile
She speaks sweet comforts to those who do not know
She is meek for the man who demands her life be for him and loves her best when she obeys
She is strong for burdens that the hurt thrust upon her
She is as an arrow for the family whose fears she holds
She is an empty well
She is a broken frame that holds a torn portrait of a child long gone
She is merely but an echo now
And I am here watching, wondering if they will ever notice that she is not me.
~lmd