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Behind the Watery Mist

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I sit there,
my face, covered with muck,
catches the eye
of those who glance in my direction.
But,
In spite of what I had dreamed,
I see pity,
Instead of awe.

The tongues
are crashing upon my skin,
licking away my beauty.

I lay there,
a blanket around my broken figure,
some bread touching my lips.
The scales are off,
as I get all they think I want.
I am an injured dog,
one who needs to be nurtured.
Simply because I look helpless.
The tongues are crashing upon my skin,
licking away my beauty.

I don’t want their pity!
I want the scales to be balanced,
I want to live life like a peasant,
like a basic townsperson.
I cannot take this inequality!

Someday, maybe,
I will be seen
for what I am,
and my dirty face
will expose that.

The tongues will crash upon my skin,
And lick away
the outer mist surrounding me,
and the light inside,
will be exposed.

I sit there,
my face, shining like an angel,
is ignored, like any other.

I will be,
I am,
Beautiful.





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