About the Poem
This is a woman's poem. I know because every woman who has read it says to me, "I know exactly how you feel!"
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
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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