i just don't feel very pretty today.
you can hang me up to dry-
another towel on the rack
dripping, sputtering, swaying heavily.
i saw the scrawl
on the garage
that marks our acquaintance
as the world spins on and on.
you'd think i'd be flung into nothingness-
i'm so detached!
i'm so serious
i could scream the door to pieces,
or pull my insides straight
like an arrow to pierce your heart.
i collect the hurting-
store it in jars;
flowers look so pretty in a tortured world.
painted cookies, pastel sweets
spread out
on a plate-
such charming vile treats.
i cannot eat this sick food;
my stomach hates me!
i have a whole cake in my veins.
too sweet.
too perfect.
my doll sits prettily upon the dresser.
lift up her skirt to see
knotty cotton legs-
stubs of nothing spun
round and upside-down.
plastic eyes click shut.
as published in 'the wisconsin review' © 2009 Hester O'Donnell (don't mess with my muse.)