i see myself:

a
little tiny girl,
tear stained, broken..
.
pressed up against a glass
window that some might
call
a mirror,

and
submerged like a castle
in a fish tank, i
watch the way
that
little me swims
above
pretty little rainbow beads
and
picks at affection,
somehow
dropped from
the sky..
.

its
blue, pink, and
green;
and
there's a face in the clouds:

like rain, i
cry. looking down at
what once was..
.

and i remember why
that little girl
died.

What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since everyone hath, every one, one shade,
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you;
On Helen’s cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new.
Speak of the spring, and foison of the year;
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear,
And you in every blessèd shape we know.
    In all external grace you have some part,
    But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

I arrive, weary, weak, wonderous
Daily work of a woman, it seems
It's not over, never over...

She sits in her spot,
beneath the shine of the evening sun.
A deep inhale, soft expulsion of my sanity.

I smile into her glare, a calm resolute
To the coming war.
Her eyes like daggers enflaming every flaw.
Of those things entombed within,
That bite, scratch, and gnaw.

And oh how my skin does crawl!
Oh how I yearn for the day to dance upon her in celebration of a life well lived...
Well over.

I love her, in all her 90 ways
I love her much more on her better days

Yet my heart can be fooled
When her monsterous drool
Exudes from her voice
As nails on a chalkboard
Giving me no choice

Her songs of songbirds
Vultures to my fate

You see, sweet little flower lady
Seems tame, makes me to blame
A crazed woman, who only has me
to suffer the sins that she has carried.