Dear Destiny

I see too clearly

that you are

a rigid string unwilling to bend

for, or to, others. Your plans are



questionable, and always



I see too clearly

that doom rests in your palm

and you wear fortune

around your fingers. Your judgment

was inescapable when we met.


I see too clearly

that your anger grips tightly,

runs thick as sap under tough skin.

It sounds the loudest in your voice

under stress, pronounced

by the break in your breath.


I see too clearly

the freckles that scatter across your nose,

the way your curls lay dead, a crown

of frizz and heat abuse

trying to tame the thing that makes you so



I see too clearly

when you linger by the mirror,

arms snaked around your own waist  

squeezing tight as if

it was that easy to change



I see

too clearly.


Yours truly,


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