misguided

there comes a point

in time

when uncomfortable

is the only feeling.

your skin is pulled

too tight,

your hair seeps

from its french braids,

and your innocence

falls like tears.

the mirror is a lair

and yet it’s all you

trust in.

but if you

insist

on covering your skin,

hiding behind hair,

and crying until

your vision blurs,

then cry because

of laughter;

hide behind

your hair

when you’re

afraid to let

him see your

‘falling-in-love’

grin;

and bury

the old you

beneath your bones

and let who you

want to be

show through

every inch

of you.