It’s time to close those glass castle eyes,
To slumber in the grip of taffeta and cornflower charmeuse,
Relishing the release of iron-walled whispers —
Perfumed by formaldehyde.
For Truth, I’ll smooth the edges of my rocky words,
And forgive, forgive, forgive like a peach
Pressed to teeth.
It’s time to fold those barbed wire fingers,
To cradle a bouquet of apologetic nightshade and belladonna,
Abandoning a pearly, hemlock love —
In favor of the sky.
For Justice, I’ll bleed the heart of my self-respect,
But my hope still breathes, breathes, breathes
My final words: I live for me.
It’s time to preen those fire-filled wings,
To meet your epilogue of soil, sunlight, and velvet-soft velleity,
Pardoning a history of unsavory (mis)adventures —
A constellation I’ll always find.
For Me, I’ll hack my jungle of vitriol veins,
And spill myself free, free, free
Of you, of her,
And of me.