She peeped over the rim of her dutiful companion

Her glasses, by no means rose tinted.

She saw them as they saw her,

As thorns in a dead garden.

Was she the only one alive?

Amidst a garden full of dolled up clones?

Who smiled smiles that didn’t touch their eyes,

Who laughed laughs that rang untrue.

Who talked what they each wanted to hear,

Not what they really had to say.

Them, with their beautiful faces and well sheathed bodies.

She watched from her peep spot, as she always did

To see if something new would unfold.

But every day was the same

They would look over at her corner and point and laugh

That same hollow laugh that rang so untrue

Yet so cruel in its intent.

And every day they smiled and laughed and talked like they were being watched

And paid for every movement of theirs.

She saw them as they saw her

As thorns in a dead garden

She had no readymade smiles, laughs or conversations to give

She had just herself, her plain face and a body that kept pace with what she liked

She had just her corner in the garden to dream in and what she had to say

Not that they were paid to hear it, nor did they care.

They were just thorns in the garden

A garden that was more beautiful on her side

A garden that bloomed and grew and died at will

And not because someone paid it to.

Living a lifetime behind ugliness?

Wasn’t it better than living a life that was not yours to keep?