she studied denial
from within
the Rorschach stain,
saw landscapes
shift
above her lip,
listened to her other
voice
shout each honest whisper
down,
those glamours
of noise
and fearful intent.
closer to a blur
that any ink
on page,
she was a lie
wrapped in careful skin.
someday, she may forgive herself-
for now she learns the art of adding
colour,
black smudges brightened by her truth.
[ as much as she understands of it ]
if only she could ask the shrinking
men,
what they see.
if only an honest life
was less
than transparent and not this
filled with pain-
known otherwise
as hopeful.
Gold trophy winner
Adding your comment:
