Your reflection remains
within the corners of his mirror.
Why do you choose to cower
behind your beauty as if
It were only a trophy to collect
dust on his shelf?
I fear you are just a sad girl
cursed with an embroidered Red A.
I can assure you red is far more
flattering than black.
No more will we bear the marks
of his fists; the shadows of our screams.
We will be calm, but never will
we longer keep quiet.
We will walk across the line
where beginning and end lay.
Black is what we wear to funerals.
Red is what we wear to his.
YOU ARE READING
Awkward, Unrequited, Superficial, Toxic, Real Love.
PoetryLove is messy and beautiful. I have been writing poems since I was a teenager. It was my escape. It was and still is a refuge. My 20's are behind me. This book is a small collection of love-related poems that encompass pretty much most of my feeling...
