Bent over a book

invisible imagined world,
world of escape
the small mind,
deeply alive,
steeped in fairy tales.

Someone would have to shake her awake –
or switch off the lights
on a moonless night,
or hide her glasses away from sight.
For she was always (always)
Bent over a book.

She wouldn’t speak,
she felt a little odd,
she knew she wasn’t so pretty,
so sweet, as she ought,
to be popular.

So she went over a book,
buried the despairing moments into utopian fantasies
that she could fall into
(Over a book, over a book.)
There was enough to turn away from the banter, the aloneness
(Mom’s cold embrace)

So she was looking for the perfect door to happiness.
(Over a book, over a book.)
And when the Sea Maiden died (she cried)
or Prince Charming fell on his knees near Sleeping Beauty (she sighed),
It was all so real, the imagined world –
(Her small mind deeply alive)

Bent over a book – she smiled.
Bent over a book – she was hypnotized.
Bent over a book – she found all she had lost.
Bent over a book – she loved, she laughed, she cried.
And when her eyes became the watery skies,
word-angles would wipe them dry.
Bent over a book – she was always so happy
and her heart a bird that could fly, fly, fly.

~Words by Ivaana