Mocked brutally by mother
Whose heart and womb were
Not connected maternally,
Poet flees storm of familial scorn
To see the world—drink from its
Cream—in hopes of strengthening
Malnourished soul, filling what
Birth cursed, heart’s limitless need.
But the world was no garden
Cornucopia, nor oasis, spiritual teat.
So, drawing from artistic DNA,
She painted her face, smiled behind
Exotic mask of enigma—
Head-snappingly lovely to behold.
Alas, such beauty demands a toll,
Ugly secret none will tell…male hunters
Sought her ‘mid smoke-whiskey nights,
Prized pelt they’d proudly display.
One bleary dawn, she gathered hem
Of sea-silky gown and fled again.
Far from false rapacious society,
She hides away…digs past her own
Skin; deep into sacred center where
The words and wealth, and what is
Holy—wrought before Time, in dust of
God’s stars—resides exactly as He wrote
It… her real story, no fairy tale.
©Jael Sook, 2017 All rights reserved.
Image credit: Pixabay
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