What veil flows
in front of your features?
What masks do you hide behind
and what would happen if you dared let them shatter on the ground below?
Would the shards prick or would you have the savviness to re-purpose them into a mosaic masterpiece?
I’m starting to rip my veil, but the frays remain stuck in my watering, blinking hazel eyes.
The sneering ripping sounds like nails on a chalkboard as it penetrates my ear drums with a vicious tenacity.
Once a cheery eyed fortunate fool,
now a Lily Allen listening tie-cutter,
one whose walls simply
can’t be torn down.
Now, I’m not saying I want them torn,
but I wish I could at least peer over them.
They form a maze,
but luckily,
I like a good puzzle.
Now, it’s time to solve it.
Emma Butterfield
Administrator
•Portland based ecstatic dancer and yogi with a quirky sense of humor who loves the outdoors most of the time • Creative Nonfiction and Poetry• Healing backwards and forwards in time• ~My writing is something I pour my heart and energy into. Please keep this in mind and do not share without asking permission.~
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