A knife tongue chipped at mortar
until my soul couldn’t bear the weight.
The destruction of brick words
piled around my ankles,
can’t, won’t, ugly, impossible, failure.
It was hard to see the horizon
when my eyes were eating dust.
I had clung so long to the tail of comparison’s coat
I was threadbare, bruised, lost.
Somewhere in a glass half full of ashes
my spirit learned to breathe without air.
Stripped down to truth I began restoration
by silvering the mirror with my own reflection.
I claimed my quirks, normal is a vacant lot,
and imagination deep enough to drown in.
I stopped chasing someone else’s shadow
or trying to squeeze myself into a bitch’s tongue
just because she liked the pain.
©Susie Clevenger 2016
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"normal is a vacant lot"
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