this is my entry for @_the_mysterious_ms_f 's writing contest, a poem called sweet honey :) she played better than everyone head held high, a smile on her lips sweet melodies burst forth when her bow touched her strings every time someone quipped, "you're so good!" she beamed and the sweet honey inside gushed and it built up into a version of her she didn't understand but she wasn't complaining about it, who would? expectations were quite high who was this perfect girl? who was she that everyone praised? "you ever heard her play? you really should!" and her smile grew bigger and bigger until it took up half her face, like the waxing moon she stepped onto the stage, wearing that obnoxious mask lifts her violin to play the first note, and it comes out an ugly twang, disgusting and repulsive the audience reels, like she sprouted hooves like horns had suddenly blossomed on her head but she still keeps smiling who does she think she is? who does everyone say she is? is she the same person? but she doesn't hear the sickly sweet honey boiling in her ears and to her, her playing is like the trees swaying in the breeze like the salty ocean air on her tongue who does she think she is? and then she runs off stage, crying because behind the mask she knows she knows what she sounded like she throws it down, purging it, burns it the stupid mask that made her feel warm and cozy the stupid mask that plastered the smile and she tilts her ear to the side and the sickly sweet honey pours out and she's left feeling empty feeling sickened at herself they had turned her into a revolting, monstrous, sickly, maddening, foul monster no, they didn't do it. she did.
