The Wrong Girl
the wrong girl squeezes herself into space, your space.
with a blind spot face
and a body too stiff for free spirits
she works out a system of lies-
a dwelling for her kind.
there are things you turn your eyes from:
not fights, not violence
but a woman's nakedness in the eyes of manifest destiny.
her lips like due eggs crack from within,
they harbour a song
but, the wrong girl never sings
instead she spits cold water,
and returns her tongue to its coffers-
there's so much the wrong girl covers
the wrong girl is an ******** on the body of time,
the plumage of nightfall.
she is a song,
an anthem
ready to fall off the lips of dumb men.
she wears misery like a second skin and never dares to peel it off,
everything that leaves her tongue sounds like a curse.
when the world asks why she wears pessimism like a djellaba
she tells it,
"no woman lives well with death breathing into her ears."
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
