Shattered Glass Slippers

The scratchy stubble and broken dress straps

she's sent plummeting, my Cinderella

The sorrow and shame spliter her like cracks

Crimson stains the backs of the angel's hands

Frantically smeared lipstick screams without sound

Our tears fall almost in sync as we stand

on an even floor and uneven ground

I know the torn threads have unraveled more

that she wants to be dead instead of torn

to shreds inside a dying dress but Lord

She is my goddess, I care not for scorn

 

Damn me, doom me, burn me in my death

She frees, she loves, even at my last breath

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
My country
Our world

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