One-hundred and Ninety-six: Perfect

Tonight I shall shake dreams from my hair,
silver petals of memories I thought I’d buried.
I will paint papier mache scars with pearls,
petulant lips puckered up in a perfect pout,
just so I can excuse their avoidable existence.

Do you know braille? Can you count the lines
of failure on my skin without frowning?
It seems I like to build bars around me,
joking about emotional jails; as if to hurt
is to be weak, and to admit it is a crime.
If this is my sin, so be it. Why shouldn’t
I hit back at those that spit on me?
The perfect poise, the lady-like vowels
are poisoning a freedom I never realised
I wanted. How much straighter can a back get?
Such incessant guilt for flaws that I might
as well have something for confession.

But nothing is constant, not even pretending
to be perfect. The letters to my name change, so
every time you see me, you have to read me all over again.

Advertisements

Published by

Alexia

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

Leave a Reply

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

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com 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 )

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s