graceless

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
a very personal piece about recent events

Submitted: December 12, 2015

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Submitted: December 12, 2015

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I brushed my gums until they bled,
and I still couldn't rid the taste of him.

I scrubbed my skin until it peeled,
and I could still feel his fingertips like burns.

I didn't eat until I became a waif,
but he still clawed upon me like a razor on wood.

I screamed until my throat charred,
but he demanded I spoke words that singed my tongue.

Broken shards of glass can never make a mirror reflect the same,
so we make art from the tethers and the halters of the noose
ripped and ruptured from pressure,

But the stars shone anyway
out from their unsympathetic gaze of regularity, determined like feathers.

Isn't destruction a form of art?
It isn't beauty, that I know for certain.


© Copyright 2020 AlanaLouiseMcDermott. All rights reserved.

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