All the poetry I wrote years ago, it feels a shame to keep it to myself. I have more, and will probably share them soon. This was inspired by a photograph.
No Fairy Godmother
She smiles back to the on-lookers,
but she knows what they’re thinking:
Her shabby appearance doesn’t fit.
The dress was surely once beautiful,
but now it’s worn out like an old pair of shoes.
And she couldn’t afford new shoes,
even the stockings are hand-me-downs.
The necklace is plastic, with earrings that don’t match.
Her nails are clean, and her face natural.
Her skin is white and, like the dress,
it hangs, not quite fitting her bones.
Her hair is split at the ends,
but keeps growing like the lines on her face.
Her eyes are wet, but she smiles.
Because there’s nothing else she can do.