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To the pretty girl in the Photograph
I hear you screaming through your camera lens while most people walk by,
They say, "how beautiful," and toss their hair
They know no beauty; they don't know you.
I want to know beauty, I want to know you.
Hours later your eyes are on my mind.
Black and white, locked on mine.
Can I know you, pretty girl?
Know you beyond a meaningful stare in the photograph?
Beyond thoughts that you expose to total strangers who see with blind eyes?
My eyes are not blind, I see your captivity clearly.
Can I free you, pretty girl?
Free you from being the captive you are?
The captive you are to the loneliness and despair you've always felt?
I sense more though. So much more.
Something deeper in your eyes grab me by the wrists while your mouth, though hidden in the photograph is visible in my mind.
Your duct taped mouth screams but there is barely a sound.
I mourn the ones that cannot hear you
You who have so much to say
You who screams through a camera lens because your words weren't loud enough.