PorcelainA Poem by Rosie Brooklin
It's 2:30 AM, and I'm in a foreign place.
It's too quiet and too loud, all at once. The train passes and I feel relief Until it's almost too much to bear. Even louder are my wonderings. Who am I? Some nights I feel like a spring-time deluge, But others I am a cool summer breeze. When I was young, I was a china doll. I wore a painted smile and the finest lace, with my hands folded in my lap. My eyes of glass saw wicked things Of which my time-worn lips can not share. Although I've aged, not much has changed. I'm stuck in my stone-cold porcelain ways of sitting still and trying to look pretty. Maybe that's why I can't look you in the eyes when we make love. I know all too well that I was designed to be played with, So your affection is too good to be true. Or perhaps it's because my lace and good manners can't beautify the deed, Because sex isn't pretty. It's instinctive, animalistic, and full of passion All of which I was taught to avoid. Passion is the worst of these three. It has led to war, death, and love. Love is the worst of these three Because it has caused me to dive off of my shelf. All I can hope for is to remain un-shattered And replace my chipped skin and faded paint With something more durable. © 2020 Rosie BrooklinFeatured Review
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5 Reviews Added on August 3, 2020 Last Updated on August 3, 2020 AuthorRosie BrooklinTNAboutI am an aspiring writer with a passion for many different forms of art. These include literature, poetry, drawing, and music. I'm always willing to critique and looking for critiques, so feel free to .. more..Writing
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