The Rebel

My world has faded, like the pages of an old book;

Edges worn, corners torn;

Read and put on the shelf.

Words chosen carefully, forming a story;

Characters reminding me of my fragmented self.


Painted vividly, within trepidation;

My life yields to reason.

Where is the rebel?

Has she fallen through the cracks?

Can I bring her back?


Revised and revamped, the cities her tramp;

Go back to the days, were she’d dance in the subway;

Lipstick and magic were painted like plastic on her face.

Why did it fade away?

Where is the rebel?

Nonconformist ambition, filled with superstition;

Laughing at society;

Had you told her one day, that would be me;

She’d of tossed her hair, like you were not there;

Ruby lips, pursed in a kiss;

Eyes like stars, so far away.

The rebel would never believe it.




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