Confessions of a 5'1"

Disappointment. Dis-appoint-ment. This, a point meant, was what she received.

She tries to let it pass her by, maybe if she doesn't acknowledge it it would simply leave her alone. But the problem is, it took a liking to her and it stops to play with her hair, to blow a breath of sadness in her face. It finds her inability to retaliate something humorous and pleasing, an excuse to linger.

It sleeps all night and all morning too. At those times, she's oblivious and believes herself free. She goes out with friends and spends her time radiantly, she sure knows how to smile. But at evening it lurks, and spotting its prey looms overhead. That is when she learns of the rejection, the let downs the "can't"s. She sees the chances too far from her grasp, she hears the "no" and feels the wind from the closing doors.

She wants to reach higher, to stand on her tippy toes, to refuse to take it as an answer-to knock again. But as she raises a hand, it falls back down. Her energy is consumed from day to day and inside, she is defeated.

She can still smile, you really ought to see it, and her laugh is something to listen to. Even if they're forced and muddled with tears, they'll keep coming because that's all she can do. Things disappointment can't steal off her lips or from her voice. Her only act of rebellion as she obediently drops her aspirations and wishes.

The only thing she manages to acquire is a pat on the head for turning away from everything she ever held her breath for.