When the clock strikes twelve...

In the narrow, dark, passage,
Amidst the dismal corridors.
Between the sharp and hurtful word usage,
and the dark bloody floors.

When the clock strikes twelve...
All these horrors will come back.
Because my reality will strike at me,
and my world will soon turn black.

My cinderella slipper will fade away,
and so will my golden curls.
A nothing will I be again,
Holding this tattered doll,
I stare at the girls.

A gentle stranger may smile at me,
maybe even wave a note.
You give me so much sympathy,
In this ocean of blood you allow me to float.

All I have is this orphanage,
and all these other children.
I can pray to God for courage,
to let me survive this life no matter how barren.

In this old dismal room,
with these sheets so gray.
I sink up all the gloom,
as I sit back and sway.
Sway to beat of my hearts music,
for all it's worth,
it lets me dance even if it's without lyrics.

When the clock strikes twelve...
All these couples will go away.
Because I'm not who they want,
It was just a waste of a day.

Crippled, old, dirty and in a corner,
what more is needed to turn you into a foreigner?
They look at me with eyes so wide,
so wide and full of pity.
What's worse than feeling looked down upon?
As if they cursed and spit on me.

I may be alone and I may be torn,
but that doesn't mean I need your help.
I may be afraid and I may have been pricked by a few thorns,
but at least I haven't let out a yelp.

So when you looked at me today,
and stretched out your hand.
You really touched my heart.
You fooled with my head in ways,
in ways I just couldn't stand.
Knowing we'll live lives completely apart.

Thinking of you taking me home,
and maybe you'd give me some love.
The love which my parents should have shown,
but instead they were sent above.

Sitting on that couch,
happily playing with those dolls,
imagine how happy I would be.
Because no more would I have to crouch,
and stand against the walls,
just so the better kids won't walk over me.

But it was just one smile,
it's not like it meant anything to you.
And in a small while,
you'll be doing what all of them do.
You'll pick up the cutest little child,
who doesn't have a clue.
Who doesn't have a clue,
how cruel this world can be to you.

So when the clock strikes twelve,
I'll have to put my fairy tale back on the shelf.
I'll have to persuade myself,
to accept the truth.
When the clock strikes twelve....

**Not about me, but something I just thought about today. I was thinking about the life of an orphan, and I decided to write. I hope it's good enough, and please comment ** +Also...this I have submitted for a contest...like sent it to England...the contest is called "A way with words"...haha..I jsut thought I'd say that...with all of the comments you guys have given me I've improved on whatever I could, I edited the poem and submitted it. I thought this should be said, because I wouldn't want anyone to think that the poem I submitted was copied of this one :) It's the same writer :)...haha...anyway My fingers are crossed...!! hope I win...though theres a fairly small chance :)!+

Aishwarya (Ash) Bhattacharjee