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to be a decorative swirling skirt at the baptism
painting young eyes on our old haunted souls
delicate curtain-people that flap in the wind
we plunge our hands into the creek
pick up the stones from the bottom
crash them into the sides of ourselves
our ovaries resentful as we must rend them
like an eager weed, we must cull them
we gasp for human breaths, clawing to escape the slogging weight of Woman
you cannot hang your own pictures in your womb
your dreams are not your own either
the organ searches you from the inside out while you sleep
the carnival is in town so we go with our boyfriends
still dripping from our nightmare dreams
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𝔅𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔞 𝔒𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔞
Hauntingly beautiful. 🖤🖤🖤
Lord Byron Silverhand
This is hauntingly beautiful!
Shadow Bliss
Good poem