Consolation Prize

Debating whether I should stretch my body out
in four corners or up into a pretzel, sweat 
percolating off my brow

As the woman smiles on screen saying things
like, “Don’t give up” and “Move through the pain”
and the kicker, “You’re looking gorgeous” 

But I don’t look anything spectacular, I know 
this all too well 

Instead, that part of me that wants to curl up
below layers of blankets into a small insignificant 
ball whispers, 

” Hide away. Hide away. Hide away.” 

So I might just do that because the corners
of my smile feel alien to my face, as if I 
might shatter before too long

And that beauty I exhaust my muscles for
doesn’t seem all that important compared to
the ache inside of me

The deep, dark, down and dingy ache which
moans and wails and bites the spirit hungrily 

It knows what I have tried to ignore, play foolish
coquettish about as airily as any Daisy Buchanan
can or ever could

Speaking, ” You are the plaything to toss into the
rubbish bin when your porcelain starts to fade.” 

(I know Logic. I know.)

I am the fun time had while they wait
anxiously for something more their speed  
to come along,

For someone more suited to their tastes that
can easily contort into whatever position without
any practice or grace

I am the the goodbye girl and such a waste, 
a waste, a waste of sweet Love’s time 

That’s why you’ll find me hiding in bed tonight
as the moon casts silhouettes out in the dark,
tears cascading off my eyes. 

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