Alexandria Simmons

An eye through lens sees the perfect picture:

The cake with its velvety words, balloons colorfully buoyant,
Happy guests swaying with ease,
Like dandelions obedient to a breeze's will.
The one for whom it was all thrown in honor:
Pretty as a storybook fairy.

               She clamped Her tongue and charred to bitter ash
               The words it wished to lash,
               The flames beckoned from the razing inferno within.

               She, the only one who hasn't forgotten,
               She, the only one not feigning forgiveness.

There sits Grandfather, stained by his own hypocrisy.
A foolish child She will always be, a distasteful existence
Always, unless She forfeited boundaries to you.
Meanwhile, the Honored One commits worse sins.
Crossed lines washed away
By her petty bribes and empty promises,
As effective as if they were drawn on a beach and erased
By the lapping of ocean waves.

Mother, hostess, life of the party,
You're words still ring clear
When you solemnly slurred once before,
"My favorite child is a monster!" But yet,
Despite her unreliable and selfish nature,
There she is cutting the cake made by your hands.

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               Sure, ignore the holes in the wall
               Made by the Honored One’s torrent of fists;
               Look over the missing splintered chair
               She crashed against the floor;
               Forget the way she left, a tempest storm,
               When she abandoned ship before
               Even this insipid celebration meant for her.
               Pretend that that we all don't get continually crushed
               By the waves of her wake.

Instead, observe the snapshot:
Bordered with velvety words,
Filled with colorfully buoyant balloons,
Overrun with the happiness of weeds...
You see only the photo, a perfect picture,
But the Disappointment who holds the camera,
She simmers behind the lens.