The Happiest Girl in the World

Wrote this almost 3 years ago in a reflective mood. It's not much, but it does speak for the way I was feeling at the time, and I know that many can relate to it. It's fairly self-explanatory, so I won't dilute it with a preface.

Genuinely listen

And you will see me there,

Eyes connected to ears

As always

Like in the days of the past

When I thought I was the

Happiest girl in the world.

Remedial treatment

For my worn little heart,

Bandaged and battered

And I flip the page

Because I don’t want

To see what’s written there.

Bounding out of the house

And up the tree,

Like a scampering creature

And not a girl,

I remember being fascinated

By the audience I saw

In the people that passed me on the street.

Brazen beaten blue eyes,

Characterized by flecks of blurry beauty,

Media-nurtured and alarmed

At the magic I found within myself.

Brown hair flowing from my head

As I looked in the mirror,

“Raw deal” I said, “raw deal.”

Don’t they always go for blondes?

No faith in my future of love,

I could not laugh.

My skinny limbs seemed pretty,

But my dark curls seemed wasteful.

Who would touch them? Like them?

Don’t they always go for blondes?

Hopeless little assailant, always beating on herself.

In later years the small breasts

Were just the icing on the cake.

And then, like a woman being

Cranked out of the tiny form of a girl,

I began to see that I was adequately recognized

And pleasantly perceived.

But it took too long.