Ghost girl

This action will have consequences... ?

I’ve never been good at meeting anyone’s expectations, a walking disappointment all the way to the looking glass.

Truth be told, I hate the big ex with a passion, so don’t wait on me for anything.

Don’t try to make me fit inside clothes I never asked for, I will shrug them off. Don’t mistake me for clay, I was barely meant to be something tangible.

I’m an idea that ended up in a body by mistake, an awkward illusion that was never supposed to exist anywhere near the ground.

Eyes should look through me but they insist on holding me captive, shackles that make me squirm inside.

Whether you like what you choose to see or not is irrelevant, my soul will always be as wild as a doe who flinches when you come too close.

Too much attention, a branch that snaps under your feet.

Too little…

It always comes as such a shock when I meet myself in someone else’s brain, my name forming on their tongue like a spell that turns me into a real person, Pinocchio all over again.

Do I make a compelling pantomime ?

How did I end up having a part in this play and what’s my line now ?

Who are you waiting for ? Why are you waiting at all ?

Get away from me.

come closer

I said I was the lake easily disturbed by the smallest pebble, but I am the lake and I am the pebble and I am the witness watching it.

Even that is too much for me. Tiny gravel stuck inside your shoe without ever meaning to… You yelp in pain and I dare to look offended.

What was it, the thing that convinced me the snowball would always roll right past me ?

A crown with no land, powerless against the butterfly effect, some queen I make.

Everything is accidental, easy to blame on circumstances that have nothing to do with me, never me.

But then my ego, oh the ravenous beast, the bottomless pit that is my ego…

I don’t know how to feel special.

I’m not special.

Go ahead and try to make the woman who can’t make the difference between love and a gilded cage feel special.

It was the place, it was the time, it could have happened to anyone else. Nothing to do with me, NEVER me.

Not royalty but a jester who can’t take herself seriously or commit to anything, least of all her own life, half in half out of it.

Not part of the recipe, just the unfortunate strand of hair that somehow fell into the plate.

Not my favorite character in this strange video game, played only with vague interest, detached from the outcome as if the GAME OVER flickering on my screen doesn’t actually mean anything.

Invisible wings flap on my back, a dragonfly or maybe just a fly, trapped inside a jar a cruel child keeps shaking around.

I watch everything go by, frozen and untethered and yet I’m okay, I promise I’m okay. I’m simply a woman made of fog, but what’s simple about that ?

To support a broke writer :

As always, thanks for reading me

Marie.