Her long blonde hair was the first lie.
It was golden sun and it shone as she
Danced up the hill to stand on a bench
And notice the world beneath her.
It wouldn’t have been so pretty
To see if her hair had instead fallen
Out in clumps in her hands. How could
She dance when she only ate wows and
How did she see the world if she
Wanted to so badly get out?
She twirled around the kitchen
As she organised the shelves and she
Beamed as she cradled his cutlery with
Delicate hands. He watched as she
Mastered her art, entranced.
She painted the plate and he fell in love.
Her smile hung over his bed; she
was his muse, a movie star. She
hid weights in her shoes. Her eyes flashed
red or blue most days and everyone
flew to her side.