“I just want to feel
pretty,” she says through her tears.
She already is.
Deciding not to go to Junior Prom
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“I just want to feel
pretty,” she says through her tears.
She already is.
“I just want to feel
pretty,” she says through her tears.
She already is.
Lulled by summer’s false
start, forty degrees reminds
us that April lies.
Tightly furled like clenched
fists, tentative red-tipped buds
sway on bare branches.
for S.
Without a ring she’s
uncertain, the baby no
guarantee he’ll stay.
What do bunnies and
chocolate have to do with
a resurrection?
When her voice leaves her
body, recorded, it’s a
stranger who comes out.
Status on Facebook:
“Watching CSPAN.” Many like
seeing sausage made.
Cut pin stitch fabric
stretch confines of clothing to
become catwalk art.
She may have faults but
to me she’s flawless, a me
I wish I could be.
Like green periscopes
tiny shoots peer from muddy
beds searching for sun.