my own storm

the night was pregnant with still air
as though waiting to give birth
to a revelation

she tried to scribble some words, but
somehow the letters refused
to hold one another’s hands

so she put down her pen,
and while staring at the sky,
whispered:
tell him to stop painting me pretty
I will not compete with raindrops
for I have my own storm
to keep me alive inside

~~~

written for maypoeticwings 21/31, “paint me pretty”

maypoeticwings is a Twitter poetry challenge hosted by @PoetessBecca and @BelezaAngel

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

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