THIS IS NOT POETRY

Thursday, July 31, 2014

Tight Knits, Hard Knocks

I have always wanted to be one of those girls with cute feet.
Little pink toes with perfect cuticles to peek out from sandals, the kind with beads on them, that wink and sparkle in the sun.
But girls who walk around barefoot have dirty feet.
Calloused and smudged with grime,
We step on broken glass and jump back, bash our hip bones and get bruises there too.

I have always wanted to be one of those girls with pretty hands.
Willow fingers with perfect half moons, to rest lightly on the strap of a bag, or a friend's shoulder.
But girls who feel their ways forward have dirty hands.
Scraped and smeared with yesterday's inked reminders,
We scorch our fingers on other's flames before we think to look for the light, jerk back and smack our elbows and get bruises there too.

I have always wanted to be one of those girls with a "skin care routine"
Creams and powders lined up in a row because we all know beauty comes from within...from within tubes and jars and compacts.
But girls who cannot look away have dirty skin.
Makeup left on overnight, a faded mark from the last fist fight,
We stick our necks out so far we nearly trip, fall back and crack our skulls and get bruises there too.

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