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Jacqueline MAG
December 20, 2013
whisper,
making lovely sentences
stringing words up prettily and
laying them at my feet,
an offering to the peaceful
haven that is me
granting a look,
a glance,
a lazy flick of my wrist
in the direction of your shy affection
wearing masks of ambition and
self-assurance
to throw shapes over the grave of my
father
who strived to throne me as
I was,
a child frozen
in some limbistic state of
adolescent deliria,
not a wisened fiend
that harbors sin like
sugar
sweet, sticking to the soul
congesting thoughts that would
once take profound shapes
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