Golden Child

Stubby lashes stem from my eyes

Curling mildly towards the blind faith drowning the air

Yet weighed down constantly due to the yarn dangling beside them

I know not how to sew

For my hands could never weave together ideas in such a meticulous fashion

God gave me my mouth for such reason

So there for at birth

My mother took it upon herself to take the sharpest needle to my newborn face

And she stitched the word 

Successful 

On my eyelids with golden fibers 

Prior to wrapping my body in silk and placing me in a cradle of satin and roses

Eighteen years dwindled by as the spool of thread smudging my makeup continued to unravel and make acquaintance with my lashes, intertwining graciously with them while lying flesh against my skin

When my body yearned to visit the sun and my feet would bless the concrete leading away from my house, society deemed me a mobile art gallery yet the mirror to me showcased not such

As for how would my reflection capture my spirit or sing me the forbidden love songs that I reserve for intimate audiences

As the Picasso masterpiece pours from my eyes...

Read the entire poem in Flurry Magazine

Written: December 6, 2021