Mixed Up
So, he kissed her
It made me sad
mothballs in the closet
where the party dress hangs
still smells like a deterrent to life
I came a long way
to show him that I cared
never noticing that eyes painted up pretty
need to be closed to apply the pigment
I turn my face back to the mirror now
I listened to his voice
about a million years
the headphones are still
pressed against my ears
I hear the sound of hissing instead
This is an island
There’s no fresh water here
even if I cup my hands
I will drink the salty water, taste of tears
I will evaporate, instead of drown
but it will be sorrow, nonetheless.
©Susan Morgan Bosler, 2011 All rights reserved. Do not repost any part of this poem without the express written permission of the author.
Susan Morgan Bosler 