she lives for the days when
she doesn’t mind
the wind through her hair
or when he was always
in the way

just a few nights
prior
he had twisted her wrist
& she’ll never recall
why

she would freeze this stage
with her heart if she
only could
just to find that tiny scratch
of leeway for
the missing nap
& untouched presentation

of where is my old motivation?

you are pretty with your
words, sir
but ugly with your touch
& tone

now hand me that feather-tip pen
& I’ll write you a
new one