Dolls and Soldiers
I know nothing of war.
It doesn't reside with me.
I just know there's a knock
on the door,
a pull on the arm,
a sense of rightness,
or something like that,
which some answer to.
That, I can see.
But I don't have to, you know.
I'm just a girl. Hard work
is an optional reality.
That's what they tell me.
But I see something
like a forked path.
On the left, roses scattered,
scent sweet, air mostly clear
with a few rare storms that quickly pass.
And on the right,
only fog. Gray and thick.
A jungle in the clouds.
My battle is this you see.
I crave adventure too.
So I make wars with myself,
I plant the weeds
to obstruct the path.
Maybe I just love climbing things.
Easy is boring,
I know you can see that.
So here we are,
with the aftertaste of something
we can BOTH understand.
The question is, can you see me
holding all the things I've kept hidden
in my open hand?
Can I trace the shape
of those realities
that corrupt the half of you
that's different?
Can you deal with me being a criminal too?
See, it's gotten me,
and they've gotten you.
But if it's what you want,
and it's what I need,
then I'll look for you
somewhere in the middle.
where you and I are ALMOST the same.
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