It's an itch away
swift in a scratch
and a burn
a crying
unsatiated and stamping
tearing away
at an innocent thought
in a silent corner
on a stable stool
painted in flowers
for a childhood fantasy.
What Mistake?
What happened to be
the plan for this case?
It rose so easily
for spite
he might smack me
between my heart.
What mistake is this
waiting for me?
He never told me
he knew
I was.
He knew
I was.
-->
Poems © 2002 Shelley Guyton, all rights reserved
