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.
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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
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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
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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.
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