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When you look at me, what do you see?
A quivering child, afraid to leave it's mother?
A growing teen, still rebellious against the world?
Or a young woman, who has seen her share of misfortune?
When you look into my eyes, what do you see?
Pools of light and glee? I say not.
Hope? For the world now forming? Possibly.
Grief, despair, loneliness, and pain? Yes, those are their names.
When you look at my voice, what do you see?
A beautiful soundscape, carving the world wondrous pictures?
A sad melody repeating again and again at a audiences applaud?
Or a antediluvian current of music, flowing from a dreamers' soul?
When you look at my stance, what do you see?
A playful twitter and jitter of pent up energy?
A soft slouch that hints at boredom?
Or a rigid posture of one who knows what is to come?
When you look at my attitude, what do you see?
A playful naiveté and trust of others?
A quick, defiant and sarcastic response to every question?
Or a thought-out expression, elegant and unfettered?
When you look at 'me', what do you see?
I tell you now, what I see, looking in this mirror that is my mind.
I see a child to young in body and to wise in experience,
I see a teen forced to adulthood far too early,
And I see a young woman who has never known true happiness.
When you look at 'me', what don't you see?
I tell you now, what I do not see.
I do not see a child free to play and just be a child,
I do not see a teen able to be wayward or improper.
...
I cannot tell you, no matter how much I desire to,
I do not see a young woman, for that is what I see.
I cannot tell you, she is a rebel, or a troublemaker,
for that she is definantly not.
I cannot tell you, I see an innocent expression in her glance,
Or a pair of gleeful eyes,
Or face that is not a mask of happiness,
Or a painted smile, so long ago dried and cracked.
For that is what I see. What I see there,
starring back at me through this hollow reflection,
A knowing, wisdom of pain and grief, longing for a chance to be free,
And a prayer that soon her life will end, or begin, or just stand still.
What I see is longing and want for something normal,
And a hope that someday, someone will know how deeply,
a pain not shown can cleave into ones soul, and tear it apart,
Every time it is said she cannot feel, or that she does not care.
For what I see, in those deep emerald eyes,
a reflection of that child,
a broken window of that teen,
and a mirror of that young woman.
For what you see if you look closely enough,
A spark of playfulness,
A hint of rebelliousness,
And a dream, that others will see this beneath her icy exterior.
But she expects none to, for they do not stay around long enough,
to care about the dusty mask of a face,
The painted smile or the lonely gaze,
But I ask you...
When you look at me, What 'can' you see.
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By: Elentári Manwë
02-19-03
February, 19th, 2003
16 yrs.
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I wrote this while listening to 'Soundscapes' on the tele, I think it may be one of my deepest poems I have ever written, I think it's really good for me, since I have a hard time expressing what I feel.
Ele.