Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Action Poetry

i only feel beautiful when i am disheveled.
hair in knots,
mind leaping from page
to page to page.

yesterday's makeup still on,
clothes full of wrinkles,
one sock pulled higher than the other.

i am seen only in a state of ruin,
no eyes cast upon me
when i am dawn,
brilliant and tender.

marked in the pages of soon forgotten history
with a coat of bruises
a voice, half slept in,
an aggression rubbed raw
as the supposed shell of my soul.