The Glass Frame
“It’s hard to find that smile on your face,”
you’d remind me at every occasion.
The little girl, once cheery and carefree,
had met her grave.
Some say happiness is a choice;
Everyday I search under the sheets,
Into the distance and along the streets,
Longing to find that prize
I will never win.
At times I wish things turned out differently.
Perhaps a shinier polish, a tighter bolt or a straighter path.
Yet, you chose that way;
The gate to hell and the demise of my smile.
Today I stare in the mirror.
I see a smile, but my heart feels a void.
When I glance over to the little girl,
I am green with envy.
Her grin is embedded in the glass frame,
But the tears pour torrentially down my face.