A poem I wrote last winter...
I haven't looked at it in a while so I needs some work...
A poem about poor self esteem and body image:
Rare flowers and warm scarves
became wilted and lonely things,
While goals morphed into eggshells and apple cores
As the shards of our eyes skewed once more
and hard earned porcelain frames melted away,
We learned there is no mannequin we can slip into,
no cookie cutter that can shape us
So the whispering needles stab us when we shut our eyes,
when we blink, when we sleep.
But we keep them close,
Pulling them deeper into our skin
so we don't have to be
alone.
