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