|Meowwww! ~ Yours, Truly.|
Every Poet Is An Outcast
I once lived my whole life
wondering how to tame
the flame of my candle,
still the ash would transform
into a bowl-full of broken words.
My loneliness of being last,
the vast recollections of sad memories
for a girl whose music could
never beat in tandem
would sod my shine, they hung
across my neck like a cursed rosary,
kept me prisoner
of someone else's expectations.
Until one day after reading Greek lit,
(or perhaps it was the story of Madame Bovary)
in a crowded room of Marsha-Brady wanna-bes,
I bowed my head into the paper-scent
of a five-subject notebook and
created of myself a Goddess
carved of words and color, and
Fluid as the finest paint,
I danced into the fire.
Written for the Beautiful Freaks Fest.