Ribbons of Glass

By
More by this author
Frequencies at which

glass must shatter

eggshells dissolve into spidery cracks

oceans quiver
the broken shards of glass slice, split,

splinter into me

deep inside.
Shrieks. Yes, I can hear, yes
yes, I can know, yes
yes, I see inside, yes
yes, I am not a child, no.
no I am a child

I am innocent and downy
I am tranquility and sorrow and fluff rolled up
you are brutal and blunt and sharp and unforgiving.
B--------y.
I heard that word once. In a play or a movie or a book oh its no use I can’t remember.
It doesn’t matter, but you should still know
you deserve to know.
no, you deserve nothing.
it is Me. I deserve. Me.









Selfish selfish selfish.
After eons of us, this?
The broken glass bruises
and slices me, rapes me,
splits me, haunts me.
But I have it:
a greater capacity.
shards become ribbons,
twirling and pirouetting delightfully
while I converse with the setting sun.
iridescently dancing, ample but thin.
ribbons, so clear and pure.
I am not downy anymore.
I have feathers.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback