I played with the charcoal pillow on my head,
My greedy fingers refusing to let go of those soft strands,
I stared into the mirror to get the pillow to rest,
When I saw the monster society had created.
A self-centered human being who thought everything nothing,
Her dress must be crisp and no crease should be shown,
Her fingers were polished and there was not a single cuticle out.
But these same fingers used to be so sickly,
Her body covered with marks of a razor’s edge
Her heart bruised with the words of others
And in her painful flashback she remembers the words,
“I am used to it”
I don’t see that pain filled girl in that mirror anymore
I smirk; this is the best for me I thought
And then mirror cracked and my reflection was broken
When I saw the monster society had created was no better than the sickly girl.
I wasn’t accepted by my own soul.

The gold chain rests on the nape of my neck
and being unbuckled,
slowly slithering down till the swell
of my breast. Resting right at
the tip of my heart.
A swish of my hand to get the chain
and steadily it settles in the valley like the sands
in a calm river of desire,
Another move and the river with its sand is
going out to the flat expanse of my stomach
and spreading out into the ocean.
I catch the chain as it falls out the shirt
an added charm of pleasure it felt.

When you say kiss
Your lips are what I miss
And years could pass in a spur
Your first touch could never be a blur.
Hazel, pink, black
Your colors are now what I lack.
I am yours...