She was a stunningly beautiful girl
dripping in gold and pearls
and clothing from the finest collections;
her name on everything, like an infection.
When she spoke, they gathered around,
listening to every word, to every sound,
What she says must be true,
what she wants we must do.
She had everything that they sought-after,
so they copied every move, even her laughter.
How she talked,
how she walked,
how she dressed,
how she obsessed
but they weren't any happier
perhaps less.
Nothing had changed
it was all just a game.
So be happy about who 'you' are,
it may be tragic
but that's the only magic.
Deborah L.E. Beauchamp is well past the age of a ‘new’ writer but her experience plays an integral role in her work, shaping her thoughts that she paints on the paper. Deborah writes poetry, children’s books and is a photographer.
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