She sits alone,
Her shame sagging as she settles.
To the side; the front; behind her.
Shame surrounds her,
Like an unwelcome jacket,
Over her cold shoulders,
From some unwanted caller.
Kind, yet shamefully unyielding.
She waits in anticipation,
For the winds of change,
To stir her hair into movement.
Her hurt is visible to the armored eye;
Palpable to the skinless hand.
Can you smell it?
The years of tears, the isolating storm,
Of nervous sabotage,
The palace guards destroy the grounds.
Where have her stars led her?
Where she put herself.
The walls are well built,
Mortared with contradiction,
Aligned with guilty pleasure.
Her cell is too small to hold her,
Shackles so soft they meld with appendage,
Restrict with the delicateness of flowers.
She is aware of the cage,
That no longer contains her.
Yet she chooses her captivity.
For it is most familiar.
[October 14, 2011]