She's been here for a while, maybe a year and a half
Sitting in this web of varying contradictions and comments
That she laughs off and dodges
Playing the game that certain people are so familiar with
Constantly holding her breath
In case
She
Slips.

And then they spoke to the translucent figure
Understand, they said, there's a half of you we want to see
And a half for which we're just not ready.

Or perhaps, in another reality, it's not that at all
Don't break, it'll change everything and you don't like change
She repeats it to herself in the mirror every morning while she's putting on her make-up
While just outside the door, just beyond the frosted window
They're going about their days with open hearts and open minds
While she puts on her paste and powder mask and hides.

It's a bitter sort of story, either way you look at it
A tale that has been told over and over
But not entirely like this.

You see, they said, there are two exact moulds
You can't have them both, you have to choose
But the translucent figure doesn't say a thing
Not quite ready to define any edges, any solid image
She's not going to say it because she doesn't like change
And she knows that even if the world is fine with it
Nothing will ever be quite the same
And she's not willing to chance that - hypocrisy at its worst
She knows this character flaw and shrugs it off with a careless laugh
It'll get better in time
I'll grow out of this, she tells herself
I'll be brave, maybe when I'm twenty-five
She reassures herself, it's not secrecy, it just never comes up in conversation
Not that she'd notice, she's far too
Adept and practiced at avoiding awkward topics
And when they ask
She'll laugh and say
You can't believe
I'm everything I write
And they won't hear the fear in her voice
And neither will she, she's gotten so used to
Not
Slipping.


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