She lurks behind the mirror
Whispering the truths
My face a poor defence
For actions that she moves
Forever patient, there she waits
My true self – mask removed
My face a poor escape
So she wallows in her tomb
As I grow, does she
Ripening fierce desires
My face a poor disguise
For undiscovered fires
I fear her, loathe her, love her
Pushing her below
My face a poor impression
Of things that we both know
She cries sometimes – In her Pandora’s Box
Yearning to be free
My face a poor reflection
Of who is really me
Bookish Lara 