At peace but discontented
In love and yet at war
Allowed but then prevented
An open and shut door
Tired and yet so wide awake
An ambitious low-achiever
Running, tripping, heading back,
The truth, a real deceiver
Spiteful on the inside
yet pleasant in demeanour
You think you know the real her
and yet none of you have seen her
With her multifaceted beauty
and that nagging sense of duty
that she’ll observe and duly
Kick it to the kerb.
She knows just who she should be
and what, with effort, she could be.
But she never wanted to
and never will
or never would be.
Thus she’ll just keep on morphing
into a monster of great proportions
or an angel – with distortions
and she’s happy with that path.
Poetry for Dullards 