a poem by me

I’m going to make a new thesaurus entry for the word ‘Pretty’


You had a habit of making me something I’m not:

An abstract, unattainable essence,

One you could pin your hopes on,

Confess what you could not elsewhere,

And love, secretly.


Manipulation in it’s highest, most evolutionized form:

“tell me what your tattoo means.”

“am I pathetic for believing in Gatsby’s green light?”

“how hard it is, to be this in love with you”


I know you only wanted me to be pretty.

To stay beautifully silent,

The muse for some half-assed poems.


I could be pretty,

But there are plenty of better words,

Words that could illuminate the sky with truth:

Whimsical, wondrous, wistful.


You painted me into such a pretty formation-

But abstraction was never my art,

and pretty was never my word.



Erika Gallion

December 2015


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