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November 18, 2024
"Mes de los Muertos"

shadow girl

By Cynthia Sharp

shadow girl

i wash my hands till the cracks bleed
and my chipped black nail polish vanishes
the pain we eloquently carry
too deep to be directly spoken     rises
in luring rhythms     glacial rivulets
we bathe it in loquaciousness
make angel wings of heartbreak     abuse     injustice
create feathers     to lift ourselves from it
carving stories through fingertips






Article © Cynthia Sharp. All rights reserved.
Published on 2018-02-26
Image(s) are public domain.
2 Reader Comments
Dennis White
02/26/2018
09:58:56 PM
A dark poem with deep rooted emotions seeping through the well chosen words, some burdens are carried long and quietly but there must be a time of relief, if only briefly to vent and lower the mask of pain.
Barbara Ehrentreu
02/26/2018
11:27:30 PM
Cynthia, what a strong poem this is!! So many images and lines I love here! Bravo for your work!!!
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