The Great Pretender
Too real is this feeling of make believe…
I’m eight, balanced on the bed
clutching the mahogany bedpost
posing in the mirror
in my mother’s room.
Framed with ornate curlicues of mahogany,
it’s as tall as I am,
like the mirror in Snow White.
I’m a princess on a balcony.
I clutch the silk wisteria, so pleasingly purple
and flowingly pliable.
I bow to the figure in the mirror
Imitation yes the great pretender,
Fake, unreal, constructed,
Created, mimic, mime is mine.
Tinny sound of fake things.
Imitation vanilla extract tastes metallic, too.
I’m a chameleon, a
millennium imitation. I
Live in the cave cast by the
Morning Glory, I
live in the tunnel
dug by the groundhog in my garden, whose dirt
lives under my fingernails, whose bugs
lives in the folds of the mattress.
I also pretend
to be a poet.
<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/this-is-your-song/”>This Is Your Song</a>