Early Morning (Written December 14th, 2005)

Early Morning

I am smeared Urban Decay

Lines in your bedpost

And a half burned cigarette, stained red.

I am chapped lips

A hollowed hallelujah

And your burnt thanksgiving dinner.
(I am close to trusting, but self-destructing
From the inside, out in this
Early morning.)
I am a torn silk scarf
Or a crumpled tissue
And a little girl hiding under my piling perfumes.
I am a water stained book
With pages torn out
Pages never read
And pages too shameful to write.
I am uneven stilettos
A box in the attic
And a sweater returned after Christmas.
I am a body without a name
A bell never chimed
and a chipped french manicure.
I am a condemned sinner
Who laughs at hope
And hopes for sainthood.
I am a letter never read
And a rose thrown away
Bleeding crimson on your white carpet.
I am the girl you don't name
The relative you never mention
And a perfectionist trapped horribly flawed.
I am loathed by little
And longing for the love
That I am too ashamed to ask for.
(Desperate for you to look
And terrified you will see
What I am undressing.)

by me