Her physique,
a severe centerpiece,
a runaway bride with
cake dress snowbanks wide,
but in the apogee of clouds
she’s micro,
a cold, cold moon,
lone wolf in the sky,
a pyscho
no one knows,
jilted lover
poised to explode.
So we opt to tiptoe,
cling to our own,
wait for thicker shadow
to gossip and sip,
search for glass slippers
near her footprints.
But mostly we just
try and forget
the outsider’s existence.
© 2023 | K.Hartless
Artwork: Melissa Young





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