My Poetry: #9

Today I’m sharing a poem with you that’s the 9th in a collection I’m currently working on (hence the title).  As usual, this poem is pretty open to interpretation, so feel free to reflect and come to your own conclusions.  I would love to hear them in the comments! Enjoy.

9

I am a dark child

Wolves teeth, steel heart, black eyes, lightning breath, hair that hangs

like weeping willow tears –

all wrapped up in paper skin

not porcelain (like those other girls who live in mirrors)

but paper.  All the words lay waiting on my skin.

Some have been beaten in.

All the words are breathing on my skin.

Some have been beaten in.

And me – dark child, child of night, child of the lights that burn

when they sky has closed its eyes –

me – with words that breathe and wait, that paint my body with

vowels and consonants, nouns and pronouns, verbs, and all their

commanding action –

most often can find nothing to say.

 

Thanks for reading.

– Julia