She will be the one with her eyes stuck on the floor.
Do not hesitate. She will not look up, even as you toss words at her,
breathe in her direction like air cannot sting,
like a heart cannot fall in on itself from the weight of eyes.
She certainly cannot save herself, but
she is no princess to anyone. Not pretty enough.
Her voice is high and strange, like glass reflecting too brightly,
a bell tolling every second
to everyone's annoyance.
She will be the one with her mouth fixed downward.
Do not worry. She will never use it to bite.
I do not think she has teeth. Or her own will.
All she knows are starless nights and sharp tongues
that are truly not sharp at all.
Her skin is like paper.
When she hears voices, they scream and shout their anger
at her, her choices,
her existence.
That last one does not matter, even to her.
That one in the corner, she will be,
she will be,
she will be the one they leave behind.
YOU ARE READING
Bent Roses
PoezjaBent Roses is a poetry collection about familial devotion, love, and misery. It is about those nights when everyone gets home late and the first thing they say to each other is good morning. It is about believing in another person when you shouldn't...
