Wax
What we see is the cold smooth polished surface,
all the time and energy spent on a thin veneer of
wax and blood and tears and money.
We don't notice when it crumbles at night.
We don't see it when the shell, the mask we make
turns to dust and ash,
and going home is a race against time,
every night, a Cinderella story...
how often I wonder,
will I make it before I fall apart,
or will everyone see,
there is nothing good or perfect inside of me
under my thin shell of wax and blood and tears and money,
bent under the weight of it,
I wait to see if tonight I will make it home,
and will it really be me?
all the time and energy spent on a thin veneer of
wax and blood and tears and money.
We don't notice when it crumbles at night.
We don't see it when the shell, the mask we make
turns to dust and ash,
and going home is a race against time,
every night, a Cinderella story...
how often I wonder,
will I make it before I fall apart,
or will everyone see,
there is nothing good or perfect inside of me
under my thin shell of wax and blood and tears and money,
bent under the weight of it,
I wait to see if tonight I will make it home,
and will it really be me?