Wednesday, January 6, 2016

Macropoetry 2: Wound


Wound

The opposite of confidence
she sits
with eyes that flit like she would flirt,
pretending
that every heart is hers to take
alone
into her arms of ink and bone,
that she is loved not for fame but skill,
that no one tells her that her youth is killed.
She sits, pretending, alone.

Macropoetry is a series of poems as images.
Find them first on my instagram.

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