Your mom tried to set you up
with dark hair and glasses
while your eyes glimmered at
my red highlights and
I was the only reason why
you thought freckles were hot.
Business was the best
besides
taking care of children
and artistic expression,
not that she forgot that
you were a musician.
A gift from a friend
but we stared each other down
and our souls
mirrored one another, yet
she was the daughter of a friend
and your mom found perfection
while I showed who I am
but apparently,
in the end,
as it was many times before,
it wasn't good enough
nor did it cut
for beautiful sacredness
to celebrate each other
and the life
that binded us well.
I've been squeezed
so hard
but how am I fazed
if this is of prevalence
despite the bond we've forged?
Guess I just
answered my own question
as the blood
continues to
trickle down
into my dry hands;
Psoriasis of the heart having
gone up to the surface.
YOU ARE READING
indoors.
PoetryWhat's a college junior to do when her young adulthood has been robbed of a rainbow of events, support, more than one tight bond, and life lessons? The birth of this collection of poetry.
