And she said to me;
Let me live eternally.
Let me be young and pretty for all time.
Let my youth and beauty last
Until the worlds dying days.
Well, who was I to refuse?
I swished my arm, granted her wish,
And slipped away among the reeds.
But forever?
That is a very long time.
So she was indeed young and beautiful
Long after I had died,
And I was told that she still is.
But she is a stick figure,
She is a Barbie doll,
She is no more beautiful than I am human.
Beautiful, she says,
But who is she or I, to say what is beautiful?
So I made her a milk-white calf,
Young, yes,
And beautiful to the butcher who waits,
Until she is full grown,
To serve her up upon a plate.
But he waits in vain,
Until he dies.
For she is young, yes,
And beautiful,
But only to some.
She asked to be young and beautiful,
But she asked it of me,
And gods know I'm not fair.
YOU ARE READING
Art Will Survive, Artists Won't
PoetryThis book is a compilation of free-form poetry that I've written. Most of it is pretty personal, but I hope you'll like it regardless. POSSIBLE TRIGGERS: depression, self-harm, lgbtq+, suicidal thoughts
