A Poem for Misstawpa

I don't know who Misstawpa is, but I just felt bad that Whitechocolate can't express his feelings in any coherent way. So like Cyrano de Bergerac I will write a poem that will melt your heart and bring you two together.


A soft, a sophisticated, a beautiful bride, head to toe in lace.
Before the wedding, adoring my reflection, powdering my youthful face.
Strolling down the aisle, an abundance of loving faces catching my eyes,
Approach my husband, he says I do, and then the daydream dies.

I'm struck with reality as a branch jabs my skin, thought to be my husband's hand.
Bare feet calloused, dry and cracked, ages of walking my disturbed land.
I see myself in wooden structures, pitiful attempts, off to the side.
Immobile in hideousness, life not fulfilled, to myself I cried.

Strong and confident, your eyes have to squint in the bright reflection of brass.
I equip my saber, sheath my sword, and by town citizens I pass.
I'm independent, respected, rooftop tall, my ego, the same size.
I approach a woman who screams for help, and then the daydream dies.

I feel the truth, my heels in a puddle, no pair of cold steel boots.
It's just me, same old life, tree-like, grounded by my roots.
There's more to me, beyond my face, more than it may seem.
But I am not beautiful, nor confident--I'd rather simply dream.
Uploaded 11/03/2010
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