Poetry

Toilette

First, I will cover myself for you, shroud
My sins, rising from within,
Like a shackled harlot,

Secondly, paint on the lips,
So that I can speak the words
You want me to say, though
Mainly, I must listen.

Thirdly, I lift the heavy pen
With which I draw my life, my soul, my shining stars,
Whispered in a heavy black, curtains
Through which you can see me, not
As I am, but how you wish me to be.

Press your lips to the glass,
Breathe in

Katrina Dixon