I was ready to wither away into
The grass, the dirt, my roots;
Infiltrating the space where my stringed pearls
And rings and shiny little angels huddled together
Not for warmth- but filthy acceptance.
I saw myself in the mirror,
Did you see me too?
Or was I that speck of glitter clinging
Onto you by the skin of your eyelids
Down on my knees begging,
"Please don't brush me off,"
because my bark will bear you: blazed always
A portrait of the directions
To find my way back home.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
I was ready to wither away into
The grass, the dirt, my roots;
Infiltrating the space where my stringed pearls
And rings and shiny little angels huddled together
Not for warmth- but filthy acceptance.
I saw myself in the mirror,
Did you see me too?
Or was I that speck of glitter clinging
Onto you by the skin of your eyelids
Down on my knees begging,
"Please don't brush me off,"
because my bark will bear you: blazed always
A portrait of the directions
To find my way back home.
