my little me.
She guards herself without knowing.
Wary and reserved, she holds back.
She holds a mind older than her years
and a cleverness more mature than she.
She hides behind magnetic eyes,
unreadable to me, telling nothing.
And somehow telling everything,
with a silent honesty that is stark.
She intrigues me and draws me in,
wanting to know more.
Wanting to know who she really is.
Who she really wants to be.
If only she would let me in.
If we could just find a way.
A way to open up to each other
and break down the walls between.
Her solemn gaze belies the laughter inside.
It conceals the mischief and wit in her heart and
When she forgets for a while it's beautiful,
her eyes are bright and her smile is wide.
And i love her all the more.
Cynthia Buell Thomas
Tue 16th Mar 2010 12:21
Fabulous title. Very engaging, very distressing poem - that one so young has such 'sadness', has 'learned' to be 'solemn', and only 'forgetfulness' reveals the true childish nature of 'mischief and wit'. Surely it is a social poem with a strong message - What do we adults do to children! I avoid using the idea of 'circumstances' because adults are interpreters of circumstances.