Glass

Her fingers dance along the tiny keys 

Feverishly painting a picture 

Of what her mind sees, 

But the colors never translate 

In ways that do them justice.

She can only hope that whoever reads her words 

Can crack the code and see her visions 

In the same vivid colors that she sees. 

She hates it here, 

Trapped, 

Often misunderstood 

Standing alone 

Depending on a dream or perhaps many. 

Plans unfulfilled as she stares into the distance 

Questioning all she ever asked for,

All of the simple things 

That her heart once made her believe 

Would make her happy, 

The glass beneath her feet cutting deeper with every step.-