Clare, the girl with gold ringlets and face made from porcelain

A pathetic young thing

 

Roses for cheeks

Eyes blue from the sky

A heart full of gold

Stories yet to unfold

 

The abandoned child

Caught up in darkness

The price paid by sin

The unspeakable one

 

She’s the girl with the curse

Her birthright is madness

She’s the daughter of Ann

She was born into sadness

 

A child of the state  

Pushed from pillar

To post

Clare is the child

Who proved stronger

Than most

 

They seek out her wisdom

Ask why she’s not mad

Isn’t she the girl

Destined to be bad?

 

She is direct

Looks them straight in the eye

“So you believe in the stereotypes?”

They mumble and fumble

Look down at the floor

 

“I’m sorry.” They mutter

As they search for the door. 

 

C.K.23