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Girl of No Grain

by Domonique Eaddy 2 months ago in sad poetry
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...notes from someone I used to be...

My relationship with myself is…complicated

Forgiving at best

Unrelenting at its worst

And completely ambivalent when in between

In truth

I am like a paint whose colors had been stolen and replicated to near

perfection.

I’ve got hints of Frankenthaler lining the sheets of my arms, with Pollock

splatter across my chest and if you look closely, you’ll see Van Gogh tipping

his head back as he swings on what was once had been a trusted organ,

drinking heavily on his yellow paint

Praying to his savior that this time,

it works

But if you chip away the paint

And uncover the low lumps behind the Indian canvas all

you’d see is a

battered mannequin taped at all the wrong ends

People scare me in ways you can’t imagine.

sad poetry

About the author

Domonique Eaddy

writer

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