The Person of a Crumbling Façade

The Person of a Crumbling Façade

I know a person.

A person on a pedestal.

Seeming to cover her cracks with a creamy white paste.

The foolish are fooled.

The wise are wiser:

One must look for the cracks, that’s where the light shines through.

The WoMan stands tilted on heels of a sharp fine point, slowly penetrating into all

those she stomps on.

The WoMan wears a coat of thick wool, protecting her weak, vulnerable skin; we

think she just makes a fashion statement.

The WoMan covers her face in a mask of plaster, all cement; we think she does it to

have a shining morning face…

The WoMan wear hair in a tightly pulling bun, we think she does it for fierceness

and rigidity; she does it to tighten her skin, holding back the truth.

The WoMan percussively catwalks down the center of the hall, she feels if not that

she will fall.

The WoMan is a façade to the lack of youth.

That is her truth.

That is her character.

I hide my cracks, I think thats where my light shines through...

I

Am

The

Wo

Man