You were a tailor,

wearing suits of crafted tales,

woven lies, snug and warm,

of the finest filigree, no less.

You were a magician,

pulling stories from your breast,

blooming blossoms of perfumed petals,

to hide the rabbit in your hat.
You were a performer,

contorting and reshaping before my eyes,

a languid, flexible figure,

never showing your true form.
You were the lie I fed myself,

hoping you would change,

but the joke’s on me,

because now I’m the different one.

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Poem written by request for Jamie Croon via my Facebook fan page.

~ Victoria Elizabeth