What's Wrong With Me
My breath is rank,
My teeth jaundiced,
My hair uncombed.
My face sullen,
Voice like a crow
If I had a hall of mirrors
I could have a murder,
Thousands of raven black wings
My beak, our beaks
Thrashing.
My ugliness will define
The only trophy I will ever shine
As I sit on the power lines,
Croaking out harsh messages
To the passerby.
Copyright © Georgia Lackely | Year Posted 2021
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