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The Mannequin
by
George Wentz |
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The crack of dawn is on the horizon.
I wait in quiet for the first light
to appear at my dark window
and break the long lonely night.
Motionless, my gaze is fixed.
My thin smile is perfect.
Each morning I am ready to face a new day
and watch the world around me come alive.
Many people walk before me,
some take a moment to look at me.
My hands are held in a carefree gesture,
playing my part in a world of expectations.
They don't know my feelings
because they are hidden from view.
I wish only one would understand
and see me for what I am inside.
The hours pass, people come and go.
Some pause to look
but they do not see who I am ...
they don't know what I feel.
Then, as twilight shadows begin to fall,
a man appears before me.
He does not look at my clothes,
he looks at me -- he looks into my eyes.
I want my face to smile and my arms to reach out,
to let him know I have been waiting for this.
He continues to look into my eyes
but I am unable to respond.
I wonder ... does he understand?
Does he sense the feeling within me?
Slowly he turns and walks away
as dusk slips into another night.
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--Submitted by George Wentz on 2011-05-10.
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