she is posturing, her rage an
excuse and shaky definition, the
bottom line is dotted and it is
fragile
it has the insult of good hair
it is a thieving liar, trailing
backward from the fulcrum
she is fighting with disgust on
her tongue, sweet or bitter, no one
will heed a bent archetype
in a rocking chair murmuring
“power thrives in unity” from
a mouth full of quiet wisdom,
while her fists are full
of fury and loathing
in the very center, beauty still
knows
truth without her intrusion, hope
frames shadows on the wall as
gradients of pure grace, despite a
past, the future is rushing in, and
she is sick of this shit
© 10.10.2018 heather brager
