Who am I at my purest self?
A peacock
Drawn in tattered feathers
Falling past the threshold
Shielded eyes and faces
Until no eyes are left to probe
A blank space - face -
Captive to lines
Of ink and life
Seeking refuge underneath
Well worn covers and crumpled sheets
A dream
Hunted and corrupted
By nightmares in sunlight
And demons by moons
Hidden behind tired lids
A hopeless prayer
Spiraled up through stars
Clutched like rosary beads
As tears run red
And run away
This poem is about:
Me