Somehow, I became the
undercover story.
Someone, somewhere,
wanted to know who I was
and where I was hiding.
The latter was simple to answer
yet the former,
was always dependent on who was asking.
For I knew myself,
and others like me,
as outsiders.
We learned behaviours from the insiders,
learned their language and even
the way they thought.
We tried being them in every way,
changing ourselves in order to
appear beautiful in their eyes.
Worthless, we were, and we knew it.
Somehow, someone was curious
what my role was in all of this.
Beginning to get suspicious of the nights
I spent away from drink
and ever further away from sinister, prying eyes,
someone, (an insider, I presumed)
was desperate for answers.
And, as far as I knew,
they weren't afraid to lose everything for them.
I assumed they had followed me
between dark alleys and around even darker corners.
They knew my style:
sharp, yet delicate.
They knew I used the light rain as an advantage to move more
swiftly through the night.
They knew that my eyes could stop a bullet from
puncturing my chest.
They knew that my smile would make them drop to their knees,
begging for mercy.
I was that dangerous.
And I wasn't afraid to know it.
About the Creator
Mihaela Vasileva
I write based on heart. I love based on thought. I think based on truth.
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