asshole,
you have no real hold over her
though her bones seem broken
and those eyes of hers have lost
their luster
she's healing with
bits of glass,
turmoil,
rags covered in grease and hope,
split pea soup,
and a new, cleaner serenade
she constructed within.
asshole,
she is not yours to own
or bargain with
she has said no
advancing is not an option
your brothers have stopped
why haven't you?
asshole,
move on
from this songbird
her feet have bitten the chicken wire
and bled for you
but you have no real hold over her
you never did.
she is the bite of frost
nibbling at your fingertips
and soon we'll reach
the rest of you.
YOU ARE READING
little blue flowers
PoetryA collection of original poetry by Ella Petrichor. Highest Rank: #152 in Poetry (6/14/18) **COMPLETED** ::Excerpt:: "betrayal along the seams" A melancholic pallor lining her face She stood in the doorway Beating the shit out of that old rug As thou...
