The Unwritten Diary of a Smiling Princess

Silence breeding with self loathing…
Yet her ears heard only truth in the voices…
Yet her ears heard only lies in all others…
For she could only trust herself to be honest…
To tell her the reality of the situation…
For all others produce stories,
With trickery in every verb,
To deceive and lower guard…
These are the words of her heart…
Formed of those in which she believed…
Internal destruction
Self loathing whispered as pride…
Her ears heard only truth in the voices,
That took shape as clouds in a dreamers sky,
Of faces of past lovers,
And the hands that held, touched, caressed,
Cursed with the gift of enduring pain,
As men,
As women,
As savage beasts of torment
Sent from the gardens of hell,
As an immoveable hand on head,
Fingers pressing, removing all trace of royal assent,
Pushing firmly, engrained with vengeance,
Encouraging breath to be held,
without a clocks ticking,
Or the comforting cuddling of hope.
She sat in a rage,
Breath hot on tear dampened hands,
Holding pages, words
secrets not for vision,
Nor dream in fact or fiction,
She searched,
Longing to find stability,
Not found,
In the lies she had told herself,
Without intent, void of force of will,
Yet her ears heard only truth in the voices…
Her ears heard lies in all others…
For she could trust herself alone to be honest…

Suffering whilst defending the virus,
Creating fertile ground,
Hand firmly on head,
Without need of great force,
Her story continues.
For she alone can be trusted,
To reveal the reality of her situation…
For all others produce stories,
Trickery in every verb,
As…
Internal silence breeds relentlessly with self loathing,
She remains…
Cursed with the gift of enduring deception.

© Simon Bucknor
2001

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