Who is she?
This Shirley…
The one who is known and loved.
She is not me. I cannot be.
Will you not see? I am still somebody.
My feelings are deep. Though you think
I’m a bitch and a creep
For words I spewed out
That may have only come across
As cheap Jabs and crabs and painful stabs
With only hatred to reap.
My words Out of her face.. Can you not see me, Even a trace?
My being is lost in Time and Space.
Rejected, Dejected and Subjected
To everyone’s need for someone else
Do you think I go unaffected
Knowing I am unselected By an entire world searching for Shirley.
It was not unexpected, but I feel disconnected And defective.
In a body that’s 43,\line I am only 16.
Sometimes my mouth runs, And it is not clean.
Sometimes I spew the anger within.
It comes out mean, maybe obscene, But it is not as though I think I’m the Queen.
A know it all.. I’ll never preen.
My name is Jenna, I am not Shirley.
You will say
You do not know me.
But I am part of what you know, Even if you have not Assumed me to be.
For each of us, inside this shell.. Compose the Shirley You think you know so well.
And though An individual name May not ring a bell,
A twinkle, a mannerism, A particular view
May have a tale of its own to tell.
We, the "insiders" You’d like to weed out
Were once a seed of survival That did sprout
And without us all being here
I have no doubt The Shirley you all know and Love..
You’d be without.
Therapy Bits 