Brown Girl in a blue dress

I am a brown girl in a blue dress

My smile is tortured in my fists

My aspirations hang down like willow wisps

My teeth are eating at my palms

I rub my face painting on a mask

With my own blood

The wind will only cake the blood

I guess after it has dried it will fall off

Maybe a fly or a gnat will gnaw its crusts

I hold my stomach

My only hope is that I am still standing

Feet can walk even with a mouthless face

Even with senseless hands

Eyes can see

Ears can decipher

Maybe I will walk into an artist

Or a God

Who will paint me a beautiful smile

And stick me an articulate tongue

Who will give me a pair of hands

From a plume filled box

This is a purpose to walk

A necessity to see

Maybe my God will have a thunderous voice

That will shake me

And bloom a rose where my mouth used to be

And light a pen to set my fingers free

But for now I am a brown girl in a blue dress

With my tongue in my fists

I am hung down like willow wisps

© 2004 Shala Monroque