She's dressed in black with white high heels,
A designed dress her ways reveals,
She fakes some tears with mini skills,
She hides her face and what she feels.
She wants to say: 'I am a saint,
I can't bear badness, I do faint,
I talk to angels while I paint,
I am suave, fragile and quaint'.
Her voice is calm, and kind, and deep,
Her head inclined in little weep.
She's got style, poise and sex appeal,
One may think she's the real deal.
She hides her face, her eyes, her truth,
She fears to be perceived in sooth.
She knows: in a photography
One can't see the hypocrisy.
exteriority.. yes, that is all that counts today, for so many - too many.. A good point, Maria! P.S.: maybe you'll find some time for reading/comment on my poetry.. :) Ciao from Italy Fabrizio
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is a sharp, incisive character sketch of a Person of Our Time, who feels she must present herself falsely to be accepted. She appears to be a creative individual, even an artist. but she lacks a fundamental confidence in herself and so she covers up this shortcoming with costumes both outside and inside. I am sympathetic to her, the last thing I would do is pass negative judgment on her. She may have an inner need for her outer show, she may be carrying wounds that are far from healed. I don't think we list hypocrisy as a sin, do we? I think in her case it's a survival mechanism.