Without a Title by Sarah Cate

She looks at me with eyes of a woman who has seen my kind before.

Young and full of inexperience.

She nods at my words but her lips dance a small smile,

Directed to all of my innocence.

She's seen the dreams and hopes before.

Her eyes betray the silent words that her mouth won't speak.

She's heard the closing door.

She can see my future falling away on unsteady ground.

She's had the hopes and dreams once too.

She knows the mistakes I could make on this road.

That blind hope from a girl of nineteen,

Eager to prove herself in their world.

And they coo over her belief in free expression,

Because they once believed it too.

They speak words of "true beauty" and "new perspectives"

Without really knowing why.

Yet she sees.

Her eyes leave me and fall on her colored page.

It's beautiful and she's a master.

She knows this,

But her door shut years ago.

All her talent wasted into a hobby.

A way to fill her days.

Her eyes leave her page and meet mine.

"Sometimes, I'm useful," she says to the door.