If I paint myself

By

Serena Mossgraves

Would you love me
if I paint myself
to resemble the child
you wanted me to be?
plucking away each
of my differences
making sure I was just
the one you planned me to be ?

The paint is peeling,
perfection an illusion,
not reality…
I cannot make myself
fit the dream of who I should be.

If I paint myself to fit the world
I lose the colors I was given at my birth,
And darkness settles in…
smothering my mirth.

Under my head

By

Serena Mossgraves

the stones are poking
so painful today,
the box is broken
under my head.

I was laid down
and told to rest
in place filled with
glass from my memory
grounded.

perhaps it was supposed to be
soft silt for me to lie,
but due to the chaos of my broken life
shards of stone and hatred
are poking painfully
under my head.

Stained Glass burial

By

Serena Mossgraves

bury the urge
in my soul,
to be perfect.
I am broken glass
from a stained glass window
only in the shades of gray.

Crimson drops reveal
the fault lines
that deeply carve into
the soul released across
eternity .

Decompose

By

Serena Mossgraves

Don’t know what is
Eating at me,
Clawing into my soul…
Opening up my
Memories at the end of the knife.
Pretending that I will be
Okay after all is
Said and done…
Eventually.

Breaking Down

By

Serena Mossgraves

the news speaks
of another death,
a child found in tragedy,
and the thought begins
that society is
breaking down.

perhaps it is but the symptom
of the design,
a disease of the collective mind.
darkness seeping from each corner ,
so the only ones that see
the ones that suffer,
are the childlike.

Society is
breaking down
and not a soul
notices…