Calico
(My first time posting, an intimidating task with the talent I've seen here for sure! I want to put a wee bit of a warning - this is a deeply personal poem and references abuse)
The threadbare cotton
of a washed out calico print
matches the faded ribbon
that slides down her hair
and licks at her pale freckled skin
her eyes are the face of still waters
beneath a blue and cloudless sky
everything's fine on the surface
but the water is deep
and there's something stirring inside
The rip in her sleeve
like her well worn toe-scuffed shoes
make for the perfect alibi
skinned up knees making sense
of the way that her thin little body
is battered and bruised
she smiles as she plays
and skips in the warmth of the sunlight
and she'll never tell
'cause everything's fine on the surface
but the wounds they are deep
and the living is hell
She lies in your arms
and it all fits just like it should
she smiles at all the right moments
slightly delayed, but its okay, you don't mind
she's remembered her lines
she's better than good
she's unreal, she's out of this world
though sometimes you just can't get enough
but everything's fine on the surface
so you keep taking her deep
and calling it love
On the threadbare cotton
of a washed out calico print
Posted May 8, 2018, 8:17 PM UTC · edited