I could be
sparkly too. I could be a shiny coin the magpie seeks, glistening at the bottom
of the crystal clear pool. But in that moment when all eyes fall, and silence
slices, words fail me. What could be filled with silver trinkets and sweet
nothings is tainted, and another drop of mud clouds the pool.
I could be
colourful too. I could be one of those girls with long flowing hair that gets
picked up in the breeze, as if even the air around her pretty head wants to
whisper softly in her ear. But every time I come close, the second there is a
glimmer of light, a splash of colour, it all comes crashing down.
I could be
graceful too. I could be mysterious and regal, soft spoken and gracious,
perched on a throne of confidence. But that seat is taken, and it seems as
though there is only space for one. And if bravery were all that could take it,
it will never be me perched there.
I could be
yours, too. I could be perfect in the eye of the beholder, looked at with
compassion and awe. But those words have not touched my name, and in the game
of thoughts those words and my name never meet.
I could be,
I should be, I will never be.
