HOME | DD

Description
dear moonfaced girl,
pig heart beating slow:
passion has never made the blood flow heavy
through your stagnant veins.
even the clean country air pollutes
your lungs
and tracing orion in the pinpricks up above on a clear night
won’t make your eyes look any prettier.

lies come easy on your tongue,
greed in your fingertips,
narcissism in every glance into the smudged silver
of a mirror;
you write poems
as though applying makeup--
everything in its place,
kohl thick,
mistakes purposeful and perfect,
all picked based on your mental snapshots
of the prettiest boys and girls.
you learned so well to show the world your beautiful portrayal
of someone else.

perhaps you will find yourself,
one day,
inkstained and feverish,
shocked with the rising of the sun,
words spilling onto the page with the truth
and veracity
that has always been missing.
perhaps you will surround yourself with ghost stories
and folklore and fairytales,
and find your heart waking up.
listen, now:
first it will match pace with the sea’s sighing waves,
then with the smack of running footsteps
on wet tarmac,
then with a bird’s wings
shuddering
as it first takes flight.

perhaps you will realize that the brightly painted bottles
in your makeup bag
can help you show the world who you really are;
perhaps your lungs will finally expand
like the sped-up stop motion of a flower unfurling,
opening its face to the day;
perhaps, like lyra reading the alethiometer,
you will learn again
that which you always thought you knew.

the frustration will fade, dear heart:
just wake up.