Mrs Smith

A pale face, dark eyes, an uneasy smile, Surrounded by a mass of tangly black curls, She sat in that circle Unengaged, aloof, disruptive, There for everyone else’s sake But her own. Trapped in a world by demons who Would let her see another way But kept her from it because It wouldn’t serve their obsessive needs. Within screaming distance but held behind thick glass, Visible but achingly unreachable. And now she appears, life Shining from her eyes. A purpose in her movement An energy no longer nervous or restrained. An arrogant addiction now replaced By an enthusiastic vulnerability. The tangle of curls now worn up To frame a new maturity. She sits in the circle for her own sake now Proving to everyone else that she is worthy, Meeting life bravely while hearts around her Now swell with inspiration.

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