poem : here lies my lioness heart

the prettiest thing about me is the way

i turn almost to dust, at the slightest touch;

i am undone and

the ghost of me weeps for the weakness of a heart so soft,

so bruised.

i’ll tell you that once, i was warrior and lioness

i smiled and the blood of those who would pity me glistened

between my tombstone teeth.

soft, now, i am, in the places i must be.

still

do not tread where my lion sleeps –

she stirs at the slightest bruising of this soft and brittle heart.

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