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She stares, her eyes bloodshot, hair knotted, and cheek bruised. She watches eye to eye, but sees only what she is told, and hears only what she can within her home. Her home. What is her home? Behind the glass, trapped, unable to escape her own thoughts, torments, fears. She stares eyes widen, fingers quiver, and head drops. Her brown, knotted, curly hair runs messily down her back. Her old t-shirt sags off her frail, weak body, and she searches further into the glass. Pacing back and forth, she mumbles, she cries, she yells. Her hands run across her face. She stares. The door behind her opens and perhaps one could hear a mouse scurry by.


Grace! What are you doing, he yells as her face turns from the glass, your need to be out here, your fiancé is waiting.



Father, she crys, I don’t love him, surly you understand! See what he has done to me! See what he has done! She turns to reveal the purlish yellow markings.


When did this happen? How have you not told me! The man stares himself down in the glass.



Tears flow from his eyes, cheeks redden, and hands turn to fists. How could he have not known this? He had her in his house, sitting behind the window, moping about. What type of father…what type of father would do that? He sunk to his knees.


Father calm yourself. We can fix this. We can make it right. I love you still, but I must be me, she says as a weight lifts off her shoulders.


The man runs out stopping only once to glance back.


She stares, her eyes bloodshot, hair knotted, and cheek bruised. She watches eye to eye, but sees only what she is told, and hears only what she can within her home. Her home. What is her home? Behind the glass, trapped, unable to escape her own thoughts, torments, fears. She stares eyes widen, fingers quiver, and head drops. Her brown, knotted, curly hair runs messily down her back. Her old t-shirt sags off her frail, weak body, and she searches further into the glass. Pacing back and forth, she mumbles, she cries, she yells. Her hands run across her face. She stares.

She holds a brush in her hand. Smile crossed her faces and she brushes her hair and makes herself look presentable. Her shoulders relax and her heart warms. She raises the brush above her head. The mirror shatters.



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AlwaysDanceInTheRain said...
Nov. 11, 2011 at 10:25 pm
Really good job! The style worked very well but it felt a little off at the end. Overall great job though! Check out some of my work sometime?
 
Jane3This teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. replied...
Nov. 28, 2011 at 5:06 pm
Wow sorry I haven't replied, been quite busy! Thanks for the feedback, will check out your work!
 
Duckie430 This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Oct. 27, 2011 at 11:51 am
Very well-written & good detail...it didn't seem like a poem though more like a story but maybe I've just never seen a poem written like this before? Ahh whatever it was good. Feel free to check out any of my poetry-advance search for Riverside, RI because I'm published anonymously though.
 
Jane3This teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. replied...
Oct. 27, 2011 at 2:25 pm
Hahaha! I wasn't sure what to put it down as because there is no section for a vingette, which is a mixture of both! I'll totally check out your work feel free to check out more of mine!
 
Jane3This teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. said...
Oct. 26, 2011 at 8:50 pm
Hey guys, please feel free to rate and comment! I love feedback! Thanks!
 
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