gold plated silver girl
you gift me gold,
bringing back old habits,
but I never aimed for the stars,
so I wear it around my neck,
with no sparkles in my eyes,
wishing it was silver.
gold bends and stretches,
but it will never grab the stars,
silver is realistic,
it can handle reality,
even when things heat up.
Photo by John Vasilopoulos
how?
tell me how
I only break
to be strong and still;
how I only
take from myself
to give to others;
how I get disapprovals
from my own pain;
how I wake up as
early as 6 a.m.,
yet can’t get up
until the regrets of
time gone to waste
hit at 2 p.m.,
tell me how
to stop.
Photo by Enrique Meseguer
past midnight
at this forbidden hour,
Cinderella has to be home,
yet her hands are gently being kissed
as her heart turns into a pumpkin,
ready to be patched in mid-March.
she dances with a broken glass heel,
twirls the ticking clock,
making the hour golden.