Lost Not Found |
| by Wendy LaTulippe |
How to unravel this sentience of displacement;
Feeling as an object mislaid, discarded,
Forgotten with the keys and single gloves and
Tooth-marked pacifiers.
The sense that I am close to the X,
That the booty is there and me with no shovel.
Longing to both find the treasure and be one.
The irony is painful.
I cannot decipher this frustrated longing,
This impatient want.
Though my talents soar, my worth seems to drop,
Until my red-rimmed eyes cease to trickle
The tears that savor like salt on the corners
of my lips.
I would for one day gladly trade
Amusing wit for vain beauty,
Clever converse for sidelong glances,
A generous soul for tangible flesh.
So cruel sometimes to be this gender,
To have merit measured by mirrors.
Let me have the trick mirrors-
The ones that make me disappear.
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(c) 1999 Wendy LaTulippe Please respect the rights of the author and Passions in Poetry. If you would like to use this poem on your own web page, please contact the Author. Thank you.
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