the pain of reality.

I am a dreamer,

Head in the clouds, heart on the sleeve.

For this, people call me naive.


It is not often I lend my hand to a man,

Learned through earnest heartaches,

That I must refrain when I can.


That was until one night, in the early summer,

The stars whispered to me,

“…Who could refrain,

That had a heart to love, and in that heart

Courage to make love known?”

Making my heart beat faster than a drummer.


Performer of the arts, an embodiment of charm,

There he was, the man of mystique.

My heart ignoring the warnings of harm.


My head in the clouds, floating in imagination,

A man so creative and full of wit,

You have my attention, total fascination.


The string in my hand connected to the balloon,

Is a way to take non-believer beyond the stars,

The excitement of love,

also known as a trip to the moon.


Listen to applause, isn’t it so loud?

Give them a wave, blow them a kiss!

Revel in your glory while you smile at your crowd,

Sweet ignorance, I wish for such bliss.


Oh, but how words can be as sneaky as a witch!

You collected my praise like a penny on the street,

It is times like these that keeps your ego rich.

Just another burden for you to greet.


The crass denial had been as sharp as a pin,

The pop of the plastic had been louder than sin.

I fall to the ground with the balloon that flowed.

Yet, not even a look back as you hit the road.


Pay me no attention as I collect my pride,

For I am a silly child,  the wild dreamer,

Dear stars, why must have you lied?

Filled me with hope,

that I would kiss the forbidden schemer.


Alas, the curtain must close on this great melancholy.

Yet, as I watch as you take your final bow,

The realization hits that I merit such folly,

For another chance at my heart,

I would still allow…


— Miss Mephistopheles



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