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Poem
A mirror never reveals  
fallen secrets sewn with soulful sequins;  
time unmutes raven melodies within,  
tawny tunes of truth~
   I once spoke in colorful dialects.  
Now, I trust just the crying crescent in your  
onyx realms  
   to alter faulty fringes, hanging undone.

Tonight I flaunt scented blue,
   macaw-feathered longing  
across skies draped  
in glamorous garments.  
There, the sakura moon glows, mimicking  
the sullen silhouette of this ink-less skin,  
   in an amethyst sundress  
   flowing with kimono sleeves,  
   embellished with floral textures,  
   sparkling above cashmere rivulets,  
while flickering jewels of midnight  
sing beige ballads in a taupe tenor,  
emanating tales of wildfire forests  
through toffee-brown irises  
   of twinkling lunar.

With you, this metallic gold cage  
feels unchained and free,  
for my glass heart is a walk-in closet,  
a perfectly imperfect mess;  
   fearless yet seamlessly flawed,  
   prisoner to polyester promises,  
   brimming with mismatched memories  
   and messy memoirs  
   perfumed with limitless weariness,  
   buttoned with burgundy betrayals,  
   tangled in unwashable restlessness.

Yet the ignorant ones claim this is  
me cloaked in shame  
   and self-loathing rants,  
oblivious to hope that flows forgotten,  
in russet wine and champagne  
shades,  
between velvety dusk of dazzling deceit  
and dimmed dawn of unstrapped reality,  
when innocence is buried within a  
  pile of unzipped sins and needles.

But in the midst of silence, I sit,  
questioning the milky quartz stars  
in soft, melted musicality;  
will scarlet-scarfed sorrow  
be seen in darkness?  
Will fate ever stitch frayed fabric of woes?  
I wear my grief in silken lilac,  
concealing the sleepless nights  
   beneath cinnamon eyes,  
veiling the buckled scars  
   beneath tanned skin,  
reluctant to voice the corseted angst...

I thread beads of bruised dreams  
with warm strands of tenderness,  
letting my honey-sage hair  
dance in the delicate  
light of the summer breeze,  
for I am the retro  
  queen of fashioned fortitude,  
  crowned in blushing begonias,  
  robed in sakura stillness,  
  throned to the vintage  
  visions of antique skirts,  
tracing pastel-colored  
pages of poetry  
to find the rhymes beyond  
leathered phrases I weave,  
as I waltz through 
   wisps of wilderness,  
   dressed in hues of haze  
and blackness that dwells deeper  
  than obsidian tears.

I am the essence of sunless spheres.  
I strive alone, crooning chaos  
in cluttered cadence,
as an unfinished portrait 
  of a poignant past,  
  framed in garnet elegance  
  and gothic-ruffled gracefulness.
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