Saturday, May 10, 2014

Wear me on your sleeve.


Come at me like I am silk and lace.  Like I am something to be worn and ripped. Leave your ideas of me in tatters on the floor.
I am muscle and mad hope.  I am hard fought.  Comprise is just a position.  Take me.  When I tear, I grow. 
Mascara tears running down my face, he said, “You look beautiful.”  Pain looks pretty on me.

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