Poetry

Isolated

This propensity towards isolation will be the death of her

Keeping company with my imagination, dreams, and a bottle of whatever

They are fine friends in the moment but stab her in the back when she’s not looking

She wonder if the universe made a mistake with her, creating this little and broken creature

That has so much to offer the world but chooses to wallow in her thoughts

Hiding, denying everyone and herself, afraid of her own beauty

Scared she might shine too brightly and make something of herself

Or fail and be forever cast in shadow

So, she remains immobile, inert and idiotically watches her own inaction

Watches her body age and return to dust while every opportunity passes her by

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