You're glass formed from propped-up walls,
so I see through you, and see you,
trying to hold your fragile,
asking to be shaken
in the arms of men built
not out of penance or glad;
the men who don't like reflection but
deserve a smooth surface.
YOU ARE READING
Her Blue Dress: A Collection (Watty's 2019 Winner)
PoetryA collection of poems, cover by: @itsmarrosee || I am the fray at the end of the yarn, cut from the new blanket, before it becomes a gift.
