PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I scrub my skin red raw,
scalding water drawing blood.
I try to lose myself, let it all flow down the drain,
but am held in place by the sticky remains of carefully laid plans.

I indulge in a momentary fantasy of death and rebirth,
immersed in a stream of holy, transformative water,
that which holds me back and apart melts away,
from what remains is fashioned
…”Enough!”
“It is getting late and down this road lies grave danger.”
Time to turn off the water and face this body,
this miracle of modern medicine,
this compromise.

Not bad considering…
always considering,
distraction or oblivion the only shelter from those merciless eyes,
always watching;
watching now as steam clears from the mirror.

Half hidden between layered cloth and paint,
she obsesses over her face,
knowing the brightest light casts the darkest shadows.
The haunt of ancient fears
writ in chromosome,
rubbed at far too late,
etched in flesh and bone.