Taciturn but yearning for a life lost
full of lust for…and mourning the artist in me
and yet, between breath… I hold my head high, like a matriarch, a woman in command.
all strong women strung in a strand, my life on the shoulders of the great demand
my eyes steady and in line
A family of 4 you see
but the ghost of me, is weeping,
the ghost that I feed in the quiet awful night
my heart let to roam free in the dim moonlight
its all encapsulating and all demanding but my head forever the diplomat keeps the lid on top even as my heart riots for its release.
but there are arrows at my feet
and this is a culture that we reap.
this quiet feasting of my heart
I give it away, like its nothing, like its nothing to give
And I am gutted like a corpse
Doing my duty, a strong women, of course
I so I let it seep,
I let the wet, saltiness pursue me
Sting my face in this assault Iโm not use to
But only a moment, nothing more
Because I am a statue, a virtue
I must follow through
I am the pretense that you see,
I am all steady and shadows of grace
Because I canโt stand to see your face
If I donโt fall to plan
I am the great divide
And if I come to break… all the things that lay before me…all beating hearts, at my mercy…
they all fall… if I wake
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