Everyone says she is lemon blossom sunshine,
Casting a spell with her smiles, drawing them in for miles.
Like a bell, like a rose, like a doll, like a fawn,
I have suffered her praises for years
Pounding like blood in my ears
"Sisters? What a pity that one's only pretty, and the other one's smart, kind and strong."
Everyone says, and they're wrong. Casting us so all along, I am your moon and you're mine.
About the Creator
Emily Finhill
I'm just a tormented spinster authoress, trapped in the life of a happy suburban mom.
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My Tolerated Self
I'd like to think I'd escape for better days. Even though the needles pricking into my skin may urge me to stay put, we are not meant for boxes and contraptions that will keep us inside. The needles aren't real, they are like bugs crawling on my skin—those feelings will fade with clarity, but some days I am unwilling to step outside of my tolerated self; my bones crumble at the idea of a future uncertain. I'm used to the boxes that keep me in place even though I know I can walk right through them and I'd be fine.
By Andi Leigh4 days ago in Poets
Comments (2)
This hits home. Well done!
Fantastic poem!