Existence

I've never escaped the middle, though I've fought my entire life.

                                               They speak of my beauty, my 'spirit' -
fiery, my mother calls it -
but of my pain,
   they restrain.
   They
can't
      touch it, nor understand it,
                                  so stuck
                                      as I am here in between
                                       and close,
they stay away from certain mysteries.
                                                        If
                                                        I had a choice, so would I- but I own it.
Pretty as a
picture, they say, the ones like me on either side,
                                           less
                    sincere, I fear,
but maybe I can't quite comprehend their actualities either.

         A doll, I'm told,
so I bat my eyelashes - work it while it works,
until the rage
                    is more than I can bear,
and crowded,
I try and push my way into existence of name.

                   Screams are silent since
                                       I've settled, but
                                                             they
form still - voiceless.
And yet, love, I know, so, though still fixed in destined order,
                                        I've found my proper frame.

dverse