the crystal glass

Know now that I am not the woman you came back for
when the street lights died,
Not the one you tipped your hat to and studied 
for countless hours,
Not the one you accentuated with your shadows
or preened with your TV static. 

Some women look down at their hands and find truths
lying   there   like   feathers

but not me. 

Some women are translucent as they say
what   they   must   say

but not me.

I breathe fire and all those things.
I shatter and reshape the crystal glass. 
I forget to apologise for being free. 

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

pure gorgeousness