Plastic Surgery

by ©ad_poet.

escapees move like the steam from a saturday night’s barbeque dinner. there’s me &
there’s wine – a little darker than my blood,
pouring into wine glasses, & mine’s

from a stitched wound, you smell something different; hear something
different: an old cloth ripping, tired of new patches [with worn out sutures].
stitches here. stitches there. like the zebra crossing (white & black burns
on me). i made a reputation from it,

i’m quite the archer y’know: bend those lines into a bow;
face its eyes to the sky & its heart below, to the earth –
’cause deep down in my heart, i’m set for home.

just a little more pretend,
play the mannequin lady,
tip toes – let people watch me.
then i place a grin above my chin, holding my gaze at the doctors i repeat,

“i’m okay, it doesn’t hurt at all…”

i’ve gotten too used to the theatre.
too acquainted, i guess.

Published by Akubudike Deborah

a very determined writer (poet and lyricist), hoping to change the world positively with writing, public speaking, spoken word poetry, music (songwriting), dancing, and lots more. let's encourage each other and live the life we deserve 😇😇.

One thought on “Plastic Surgery

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