Just once,
I should like to see
a pretty truth.
I am too used to self-curating
— slipping into silken words —
shimmering golds that complement
my skin just right
(not wash it out
upon the threat
of natural light).
Confessions speed to
halts,
flushed-faced;
pause,
dismayed
they cannot catch the sun
from a gentler angle,
to soften, to lovingly blur
and still pass for the same entity.
From the cradle, I've been
my own ****** half-enthusiasm
borne from rubbernecking thrills
— real-time collisions
at the mirror's appraising edge.
Jan 6, 2021
Jan 6, 2021 at 7:15 PM UTC
Just once,
I should like to see
a pretty truth.
I am too used to self-curating
— slipping into silken words —
shimmering golds that complement
my skin just right
(not wash it out
upon the threat
of natural light).
Confessions speed to
halts,
flushed-faced;
pause,
dismayed
they cannot catch the sun
from a gentler angle,
to soften, to lovingly blur
and still pass for the same entity.
From the cradle, I've been
my own ****** half-enthusiasm
borne from rubbernecking thrills
— real-time collisions
at the mirror's appraising edge.
FIRST WRITTEN WORK OF 2021 WADDUP (and first written piece in six months but we'll gloss over that okay)
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