Chapped knuckles tear
Across broken teeth,
Shattered when she smiled too hard.
Maybe if she’d thrown her cares away,
She would’ve been beautiful
Arsenic-laced sugar and Cyanide
The mind of the Daughter. Only then
Will she become “Woman”:
When her blood consists of concealer and misogyny,
And her nails are painted a deep shade of
Adderall and Madonna-whore complexes.
She tilts and teeters,
High on heels stacked
From library-scented aspirations.
Attach World Trade Centers to her feet
“Don’t you dare come crashing down”
“Desolation and rebirth depend on you”...
Cuts from the broken
Shrapnel of children’s dreams
Trace against her whiteboard skin-
Sewn together with barbed wire stitches
And trans-continental train tracks-
Reinforced by media mogul messages of
Melasma malformations and botox beauty.
Her voice is broken marble tapestries and
Razor wire promises- filtered out by
Oxy-cotton balls and tired
Sienna colored filmstrip memories.
The sands are falling from her hourglass figure,
And pronouns are just from necessity and not care.
She sings in disputed claims of times long ago
And wraps herself in what a Woman should be.