Six: Taboo

My mouth feels naked as it floats, anchorlessly pink, not sinking
under a blanket of crimson pride. I am joyless, my lips forming an
automatic pout but it makes my eyes more Katherine than I mean.
There was the mean red morning but now I’m soaking under
blanche neige, held down by the shipwrecks of my complexes.
Frown further, little girl, feel that wrinkle furrow low on your brow,
spreading its roots like little starfish hands; it won’t be cute when
it wraps itself around your face and you can no longer see.
The Little Mermaid swims in my throat, circling all the words I pretend
I don’t want to say. I’ll dive between them, shelling out the leftover hopes,
as if my little coral heart isn’t being smashed into grains of sand.
This tempest will blow over, if I can just find
one more poppy to crush.


Published by


I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s