Poetry

A thousand

There was a time when revealing any part of ourselves

to others

was something neither of us

could ever do.

We liked to play with illusions and give them out freely,

a cheap ticket to the circus act

we wanted to emit,

concealing with flare and artful tongues

the decrepit conditions

behind the scenes.

But our painted smiles have been washed off,

scrubbed away

until only our blemished, ruddy cheeks remain.

We’ve gone au naturel,

and now our smiles for each other

hold as much power as a thousand

years could bring us.

Poetry

Uncovered (draft)

Why should my  sensitivity

be a sign

of who I am?

 

Why

should I be measured by

the bruises I bear

from a night of unrest,

when all I asked for

was hospitality?

 

Why would you seek

to drug me

with pea-sized pills

and force me to climb

the innerspring tower,

when a simple question

would so easily give

rest to your doubts?

 

Don’t take my truths

as acceptance

of your hand.

 

If you had

seen me

first, I may have reconsidered.

 

The cover has been

removed from you, not me.

 

Your chance has been spoiled:

blind

desire has that effect.

You will

see.