Look at me closely,

for you, I want to be real --


See me as I am.

Mother can continue to see me
as a daughter, but my brother
and my husband must want
to know me as I am

I need that
even if it's not true
because my fruitless striving
keeps me alive nonetheless

Walking and writing
in notebooks and letters
explanations of who I am

Book after book to refute
and to replace what they like
to think about me, to break
it down and nuance it

Word by word weighed
and considered and rejected
now for sale to strangers -
my kind, if they dare to be so

When someone likes me,

it always feels to me like --


a virtue of his.

My prettiest dress,

and little jingles ringing --


in everyone's ears.

Am I made of glass?

My inner self visible --


and unreachable?

Only noticed in a small circle
and even so
not quite for who you are
      
and what you are able to, almost unneeded
unfortunately that is common
Time keeps going by
      
and later, life forgets
everyone and everything that was known
and then there is no difference anymore

Celebrity is a lie
pinned on a beacon
It does not matter
      
but sometimes you sit around doing nothing
and you feel that it is a pity
for your children, your friends and society
      
that you're not of more importance
or leave behind more
Time keeps going by
      
and life forgets what has been

I do as I like,

Mum stays calm, I don't know if --


I even exist.

So I'm a poet,

which was once just a pose, but --


I conformed to it.

Come in, look at me,

look at my inner world, my --


inner wallpaper.