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broookePoems
we the daughters of sliced sunbeams and those who chase gales in between the pasture gates and barbed fences behind the silo-- who think there's nothing softer than the way honey sounds drizzled on toast or daisy petals at the supermarket the women of ferocious silences, standing before dozens with trimmed smiles and deafening inner beauty squeezing our fingers down barley stalks and sewing the roots into our dresses, we've tried six ways to sunday the rules, the book on being wanted, before realizing that anything born out of self-indulgence wilts away all the work we did to grow and plait our hair with vanilla, dipped in sweet almond oil we had no idea that pretending could only get us so far.
0
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 10:26 AM UTC
Belay.
we the daughters of sliced sunbeams and those who chase gales in between the pasture gates and barbed fences behind the silo-- who think there's nothing softer than the way honey sounds drizzled on toast or daisy petals at the supermarket the women of ferocious silences, standing before dozens with trimmed smiles and deafening inner beauty squeezing our fingers down barley stalks and sewing the roots into our dresses, we've tried six ways to sunday the rules, the book on being wanted, before realizing that anything born out of self-indulgence wilts away all the work we did to grow and plait our hair with vanilla, dipped in sweet almond oil we had no idea that pretending could only get us so far.
(c) Brooke Otto 2016
broooke
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broooke
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 10:26 AM UTC
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