You’re sewing sequins in your skin,
Washing in water colors.
You’re chiseling away characters you’ve been;
The bane of conservative mothers.
You’re painting on pleasant expressions,
Masking maddened eyes.
You’re ripping away the shame
That began between your thighs.
Never demanded the devil for attention,
But danced onto his path.
Never teased to taste his tongue
That felt of silk and ash.
Never meant to fall into his fervor;
A sickening, sordid doom.
Never expected the pain
That welled within your womb.
So in time try to heal the torn bits
But the bruises only build.
So purge the poisonous pleasures
That every curving crevice fill.
Trim yourself with tinsel
To hide these hideous flaws.
So maybe you can cope
With losing what’s most precious of all.