Thursday, April 7, 2011

Where is the love

Oh, Tina…must this be self-destruct?
The unexpected mirror of the  agonized teenaged self
A woundedness that is known too well.
But these choices a game of Russian roulette
With body, safety, and future wagered
Which destiny will the bullet critically strike ?

Yearning for the pain to be arrested and
The needed love and compassion to enfold
The childlike woman-shaped self
If only from that donkey of a madre,
Instead of entreating Howe to press the fatal trigger.

You are cherished and hoped for, your peach soft cheeks,
Tenuous snuggles and brighter aspirations soaring to
Whisper around hunched, quivering shoulders.

(Today's NaPo prompt: write a poem with seven different phrases, ideas, or just plain old “things” in it. 
The seven ideas are listed here.)

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