There are two sides to every story,
and a hundred sides to every one person's face.
Just because she's real with you
doesn't mean she trusts you.
She spends her evenings with different men,
her afternoons reciting love poems.
She lives alone,
But she has no home
She's cultivated a heart of stone.
Stroke upon stroke,
she creates her escape
to that haven, to that one place.
But it's all fake
and nothing lasts.
She's fabricated.
3 comments:
When did you write this one?
April of '08
I like this line: "Just because she's real with you / doesn't mean she trusts you."
If I may, I think the ending would be more poignant if you omitted the last line and it ended on "Nothing lasts."
I like the poem though. I like what it's getting at.
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