She’s dressed in black with white high heels,
A designed dress her ways reveals,
She fakes some tears with mini skills,
She hides her face and what she feels.
She wants to say: “I am a saint,
I can’t bear badness, I do faint,
I talk to angels while I paint,
I am suave, fragile and quaint”.
Her voice is calm, and kind, and deep,
Her head inclined in little weep.
She’s got style, poise and sex appeal,
One may think she’s the real deal.
She hides her face, her eyes, her truth,
She fears to be perceived in sooth.
She knows: in a photography
One can’t see the hypocrisy.
Maria Magdalena Biela
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I love hearing your voice, Magda. Love your poem. x
Thank you, luv :)! I reaaly glad to have you back here!