Posted in Poetry

tragic.


Mirror,

how do you
tell yourself truth?
in bite-size portions, snacks
in-between meals or buffet-style realization?

The never ending comparison
words written
as if boobs matter.

Who else makes such remarks?
If not for Anne Sexton, i
would have no clue why
i am or am not.

Anne said it best…

“Perhaps I am no one.

True, I have a body

and I cannot escape from it.

I would like to fly out of my head,

but that is out of the question.”

let confusion continue.
you believed the wrong men. the girls
crueler than an autumn sun
toying with warmth.

One thought on “tragic.

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