The Art of Being Blind

She never got spoon-fed and started licking off the knives But knives cut her tongue Her home is in the white spaces but not the words You claim to know the flower, but do you know its pollen grains? "You are fit so get over it", they said "Don't be a drama queen", they said But are they aware of her prison, the ball and a chain They hear the dialogue but not the disclaimers Found comfort in the storm, She vented and vents went into other rooms The plate was half empty and still, people beseeched for food She's breathing with a plastic bag over her head Was the oil in the water Cooked the dinner and washed the dishes Watered the dead flowers in the hope of a garden A champagne bottle shaken up by her thoughts Allergic to her image Toiled to find her Antony to Cleopatra but found Lago instead In a toxic relationship with an emotionally unavailable Man When people got a new phone, they tossed the old one Darkness lurked behind, consuming part by part every day She reread the novels in the hope of a different ending She was the butterfly which never saw her wings She's sinking in quicksand with a heart attack and people claim to help her when they are just 3 feet away, How many times has she failed to pull the trigger and used a pen instead, Sat on the bathroom floor holding a shiny way out, painted lines on her shoulders, crimson magic flowing Her lips perfectly parted and her eyes glittered with her tears That's right, you don't know this so do you even know her at all?