Like her

The scarlet red on my lip
is dripping like the dew.
The purple on my ribs
are the new talk of the town.
My mother is what I see
in the mirror, when I put my hair
in the bun.
And the footsteps of demon that
makes my heart groove in my
swollen chest, resembles to the
dark shadow of my childhood.
How my caterwaul sounds like
my maa's
and how my dreams often misinterprets
her man with my.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem