TECHNICOLOR

she’s an uneasy princess

internally decked out in

pink thrills and violet frills

skills replete and being

a fresh red target for those

who prey upon the meek

and unspeakable things did

cross her path in youth

so she’s trapped in being

that child without an upbringing

stingy and stinging with

cold hollow feelings and

hands that won’t clasp

unless you’re at half mast for

a childhood disaster

she seeks the predatory

liking that itch that

shouldn’t be scratched

and is unmatched in her

glorifying of the deeds

no vanilla seeds in her

technicolor ice cream

but she dreams of breaking

free of this mishap that

has her chained to being

drained and having

two pounds on a three

pound trigger all the time

enough to blindside

and keep her

just out of line

but she brandishes words

a sword of literature

that calms like ointment

and rips away the mask

of tainted glasses clinking

or ships in bottles sinking

portholes on  her father’s wall

where he could look through

when he birthed her scrawling

faltering voice with his

bastards hands that

only could claim innocence

never raise a child just

fade a child and bait

her into being him someday

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