The Girl Behind The Door


United States
28° 11' 24.8712" N, 82° 46' 1.47" W

From the corner of my eye she peeks into the world,
Timid and soft-spoken—
I can hear her
But others say they can't hear this girl.
She never bothers to speak up,
Always insisting on getting ignored,
Forced to stay quiet—
Beat up.
I wonder why she even fights—
She doesn't even seem to bother winning this plight.

I watch in interest—
The world brimming with unfortunate events—
But something tells me to wait—
A reason to hesitate—
My voice soft and quiet—
I'm not intimidated by it.

Her fascination—
Her fixation on this world.
It makes me question what kind of girl—
A person must be mad to look on with a bright spark in his eye.
Tell me, girl, through all this—
After the teasing,
The ridicule,
All these things demeaning—
Why are you so happy?

I find nothing special—
Nothing in this empty land
Satisfies even the palm of my hand.
But as time consumes us
I wonder what happens to you.
Asking about me—
You're going through this, too
I wonder—
I have a feeling you shouldn't be worrying about me.

If you're asking me—
I wouldn't know.
Not a thing—
But I do know the capital of America.
And I know what type of penguin flies.
Nope, not a thing,
but countless lies.
I hear them around me.
With toothless grins of glee.
But I laugh along with them.

You would not believe—
Now, this girl—
The girl behind the door—
She got up,
"Saying I'll have no more
of this.
The lying,
The tearless crying,
The tickling pain—
Seeing anymore;
I'd feel like dying!"

She stood next to me,
Looked at me,
Those bright eyes shining.
I can't remember what she told me,
But she did say
tell me what it's like behind the door."



It's what it is.

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