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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