i hate your face.
it has been two days and three nights since mother looked at me
without pretending
that
i was made of glass. she wants to rub me off from her childish drawings
that she drew as a little girl. she is a little girl
with pouches; ink like blots scattered on both cheeks-- aging age
of no experience.
i hate your lying skin and hands and your hunched
back
your lizardly arrogance and
stature--tail tucked in like no man's immortality.
you resemble my father's youth
and everytime he tries to make me say sorry to mother
he looks more like you.
you pole dance
in the doorway of an oldman's only incisors
and i was sarcastically correct with the faint
wordlessness.
kudos.
Author notes
edited four times.
A contest entry
- confession by philosphyofkate.
9000 points, ended November 18, 40 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
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this is amazing
best of luck in the competition
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i almost forgot about this. thank you. how have you been?
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