Poetry | Journal

Inspired.
Copy. Paste. Scratch that. Erase.
Deep breath, begin.

The lace ribbon waist was a waste, look up at her face
and trace the white space
between freckles and scars
and whisper
when I see your eyes
I see shooting stars.

Like a moth to a light, must fight off another night of the temptation.
Your anticipation of allegations and accusations
from association is a hallucination.
Careful contemplation for explanation cannot beat extra examination.
The merciless manipulation that raised rebellious retaliation is your strength.
Do not forget that.

Lace waist wasted in satin neck ties and dark dress pants,
look in the mirror to see her and see
Beauty.

See yourself.
Your future, your heart, your home.
And see your bruised and battered benevolence that broken, became brilliant.