This was something she never wanted.
She recalled the way she liked her eggs-
sunny side up like the sunny side of the sun
beating down her crowded cubicle.
Yet she was alone,
acquiring the left taste of black stimulant, cold,
and right bottled caffeine, while claiming
to only enjoy the savor of tobacco after every sip.
Through the looking-glass,
she waved away the flies
and shook her head in tune with the sirens
that glorified death and old distress.
The cigarette smoke never left her lips
because in this dream, she felt it soothe her soul.
She wasn’t going back to sleep on the pillow
stitched by the demon prince who told her
she was too fat to want to live,
but shaped enough to fit into the jacket of restrain.
The voices hadn’t stopped her
from begging into her empty cup, as she struggled
to fight away the taste of terror
that rang through her ears.
It had nothing to do with her poverty of speech
or lack of processing thoughts,
but she couldn’t say no when he asked her to dance.
This poem was written by me last year and will be included in my poetry book. This was based on real life... something I saw in NYC early one morning waiting for a ride to go home. She was indeed far, far away from home...
No comments:
Post a Comment