# 129


Wind in my neck, like
a limp doll that has lost it’s comeliness.
Straighten my skirt, and dust
off the grubby prints
left by the men that knew I had no money.
No money for the inhale. Even less for the exhale.

Comb my lashes, even on the one half open eye,
and redo the blush that hides
the blue on my cheek bones.

Yes, hide the blue.
No one likes a bruised face.

Wash the black off my fingers. Crack head’s
don’t make for a presentable date.
Paint my nails a pretty neutral shade,
to match your indifference.

You can pick me up now,
unless this is where you want me.

Yes. Hide the shame.
I understand.

3 thoughts on “# 129

  1. the way you wrote this is beautiful. It really hits home-cover up the scars and marks and be the “pretty girl”-at least that is where it took me and a childhood image of my mom curling my hair and putting on the little dress for church on sundays-just to look the part, meanwhile there is a monster with secrets underneath. Anyway, really like this piece, thank you for sharing it.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks… its more about being a junkie and covering up the marks of being a junkie so that doing what it takes to get high is easier… a poem to myself really. But… if you gained something from it then awesome. 🙂 Thank you for reading.

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s