Dismissal

The midnight hour gleams with the polished hope of a wistful, wishful girl, gazing at stars that would trace the edges of her magic if they could reach her.

But the window is shut and the curtains drawn. The silly dreams of of an immature mind are dismissed by the must-do’s and not-now’s of responsible adults who know better.

A dismissal she will know many times over, even from those who make promises through vows to cherish and through fingertip kisses and even through toe curling bliss.

That loneliness is a requirement, it seems. A right of passage into the realm of grown ups. Where the glitter of the night sky holds only the magic of sleep and where the moon speaks to no one but the wolves.

But you know the secret, don’t you? The sky isn’t where the magic lies.

It’s not in the clouds or the stars or the moon…

It’s right inside each and every one of us.

And the magic in your heart can only be dismissed if you let it.

I refuse your dismissal, cruel world.

I throw back the defeat of your drapes to glimmer, shine and light up all the darkest corners of the universe, right alongside my stars.

There is no goodnight in that magic. There is no dismissing me.

image
http://www.deviantart.com/art/Magic-114340437

The false mirror

I stare at myself in my full length mirror,
sheer red, black filigree, soft heavy breasts held high, on a platter.
Fine, black stockings coating smooth legs,
dark lace, milky thighs, creamy round bottom peeking from behind.
Silky blonde hair swept up in a bun,
simple mascara, cherry gloss, a few pinches of the cheeks.

I rise on tip toes to lengthen the effect,
how I wish I had a sexy pair of fuck me pumps.
But, how could he resist? He wouldn’t resist.
I’ve given all the signals…
He knows I want to play…

I step out, into the chill of our large bedroom,
waiting to fill his vision,
walking toward him when he doesn’t notice.

Finally, standing before him, screaming at him in my mind,
Notice me, please don’t hurt me, Notice me!

Deer in headlights, as blank as could be.
Why is he surprised but not happy? His response, or lack of one, derails me.
I arrange myself on the pillows as he finishes his bedtime routine,
I wouldn’t have cared if his teeth were unbrushed.
But it gives me a moment, to swallow the hurt,
to refuse rejection, it has no place here.
Not here.

He flips off the light.
Always in the dark.
Always unseen.
Does the mirror lie to me?
Is it a false reflection I see?
Why doesn’t he want me?

Why don’t you want me?
I do, he says.
But the rejection sits there, on my chest.
In this place where it shouldn’t be allowed.

And I get angry with the mirror.
As he climbs on top of me,
Obligated.

God Damn that mirror.

That stupid, mocking, false mirror.

Broken by ElisabethAnna via DeviantArt.com
Broken by ElisabethAnna via DeviantArt.com

Another old draft that I don’t want to delete… The mirror still mocks me sometimes.