Amelia
“If you had a daughter, what would you name her?”
I stare, wondering if this is an invitation
to finally press together lips, bodies,
souls combining into a constellation
staying dormant for nine months until it bursts.
Supernova, vibrant colors and high pitched wails.
Reach with hands the size of my self-esteem.
I’ll tell you the story of your beautiful father
stubble and flannel sitting across from me questioning,
“what would you name her?”
After him of course. Handsome, generous, hurt me
with his angelic ways and devilish touch.
Hopes for a daughter unlike me.
Awkward, unsure, disgusting and distorted
blurry images clouding the masterpiece
of bedhead and six foot something laughing
at me, never with me. All smile, stained and crooked.
I never answer. Hands playing
with unspoken words and vivid images of curly locks
bouncing and cherry red sneakers the size of my palm.
YOU ARE READING
Manic - A Book of Poetry
PoetryAn ever-growing collection of poetry from the racing thoughts of a twenty one year old female.
