She looks at me with this big, bruised ego behind her eyes.
She looks at me, but she does not know me just yet.
I stare, trying to see if this is a story where the hero dies.
I look closely, but she simply does not recognize me yet.
The twinkle in her gaze shakes nervously as she cackles.
I wish she could hear me, but she does not know me yet.
While she dances alone, they are putting her in shackles.
I will save her one day, but not right now, not yet.
She looks just like me, and her skirt sways just like mine.
She thinks she knows it all, but she cannot know me yet.
They will wash her thoughts, then stab her from behind.
She will blame herself, but she does not know rage yet.
-Jackie
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 