Yesterday, rock shop
heart-shaped stones—
Valentine leftovers,
palmed a piece of fluorite.
Internal narrator spoke:
“Purple hearts are earned.”
I released it.
Internal editor reprimanded narrator
without mentioning
the war waged on me, simply showed that telling narrator
the bruises tinged with black and green
stomped into my violet heart
and placed me in my own story,
full stop in a heart-filled chamber.
Amethyst.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.
Intertextuality is my passion.
Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.
My words are mine, not a robot’s.
MA English literature, CofC
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