Of Camels and Straws
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* The saddest guise of abuse is that the abused often believe it’s their fault, or that they are unworthy of anything better. *
~
flakes fell …
wafting gently forth-and-back
to sew invisible seams that
joined night sky with a soft, white
blanket covering the ground …
the heavy snowfall was
lit up like a wedge of dancing winter
pixies in the streetlight’s
buttery beam …
she stood statuesque -
arms straight out to her sides
her shadow like a crucifix of oblivion
consuming snow and light alike
making her seem twice as mysterious
- twice as imposing
(‘if ONLY’ she mumbled to herself) …
face-to-sky, she let the ice
crystals sting her skin
like little frigid kisses from heaven
she was quite familiar with
such chilled, ambiguous affections
as her lips (and aching heart)
had known only gelidity for quite some
time now - the half-truths of
a mouth pressed to hers -
closed and pursed with careless indifference …
(tenderness, a casual casualty)
and a hint of something more -
something … dark
VERY dark …
evident in their final kiss
a painful nip of questionable intent -
certainly not loving
or even sensual -
and though it did not draw blood
it left a mark that lasted days …
each time she glanced at it in reflections
a cold, black fear dug into her gut
and a chill went from marrow to skin
arm hair standing like steel wool …
it was THAT - the little
brand of his evil motive left on her lip -
that finally brought her here
to the literal crossroads of her life
waiting alone on a wint’ry eve
for a bus to elsewhere -
ANYwhere …
her charmed Cinderella’s carriage -
her pied pumpkin of hope
and the wish for an
existence without monsters …
without a black pit of abused despair
without the forced and phony
guilt that she was unworthy of love
and without mirrors that
only returned a face of contusions that
makeup couldn’t mask -
the marred visage of a once beautiful
angel she no longer recognized …
or even …
liked.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2022
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