She stuffs neglect, not-good-enoughs,
the jeers, the art of dodging
within her spine, her ribcage
that protects her shriveled heart.
Her arm and hand bones swat away
the words she doesn’t want to hear.
Her leg and feet bones run away
before she’s ground to dust.
She paints her skull with make-up
and pretend-there’s-nothing-wrongs.
She learned she’s only baggage,
something lost and never found.
She’ll never learn to love herself
if all she knows is hate.
published in Sonnets to Sing
Comments