She;
The Bluish-white
powdery cousin of
malice,
secured to lead by marriage,
takes a wrong turn at hostility.
Becoming monstrous, overbearing
she shows up in
strawberries and
on grandma's good china.
She strikes the door against the wall,
chipping the molding.
As the mirror escapes from its frame
it crashes down to
the floor
She kneels, grasping for the fragments of the whole.
Mirrored shards mix with blood as they break the skin
Of her palms.
Her hands open with the fire of splitting cells
releasing the terror and destruction
of the battle field
Her features
rustle through the trees,
as she watches the forest
against the glass of the window.
The road moves by,
New York beckons,
noxious boredom overcomes
innocent childish games.
Daylight shines through,
the darkness
In her mind, an empty bus.
I look at her with attachment,
pity,
childish questions on my paper
preoccupying my mind.
Where will I
Live?
Will I
marry?
Will she
survive
40 square feet of
White washed
Cardboard walls
The picture of perfection
Molded into her cell
Her mother yells from
Outside the prison
Yearning to escape to the other side
her daughter lies inside them,
her beaten hands shielding her ears from the shrieks
the prison cell is locked
to those beyond the bars
but opens from the inside.
The Bluish-white
powdery cousin of
malice,
secured to lead by marriage,
takes a wrong turn at hostility.
Becoming monstrous, overbearing
she shows up in
strawberries and
on grandma's good china.
She strikes the door against the wall,
chipping the molding.
As the mirror escapes from its frame
it crashes down to
the floor
She kneels, grasping for the fragments of the whole.
Mirrored shards mix with blood as they break the skin
Of her palms.
Her hands open with the fire of splitting cells
releasing the terror and destruction
of the battle field
Her features
rustle through the trees,
as she watches the forest
against the glass of the window.
The road moves by,
New York beckons,
noxious boredom overcomes
innocent childish games.
Daylight shines through,
the darkness
In her mind, an empty bus.
I look at her with attachment,
pity,
childish questions on my paper
preoccupying my mind.
Where will I
Live?
Will I
marry?
Will she
survive
40 square feet of
White washed
Cardboard walls
The picture of perfection
Molded into her cell
Her mother yells from
Outside the prison
Yearning to escape to the other side
her daughter lies inside them,
her beaten hands shielding her ears from the shrieks
the prison cell is locked
to those beyond the bars
but opens from the inside.