Her Bones

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