The Girl With A Secret

She leans against the wall, so nonchalant,
Her hand tucked across her drooped, petite case,
Her legs placed tactfully against her weight
To stand awaiting, awhile. With a stroke
Of a pointed brush to strike perfection,
Her face a template of a flower, reflection:
Lovely face yet oh possessed, what broken glass
Stuck in between her eyes, her mouth so crass,
And the barren heart sealed tight. It pains her
Through flurries of the judging memos, taped
To her forehead, to no end, no escape.
Her own surmise, she looks within a mirror
To see a meager child, so frail, but charmed:
Staring back, concealing a prosthetic arm.