I Am Not Beauty, I Am Photogenicity

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I am not the prototype for beauty or poise or How To Be a Lady in the Street.
I am stray hairs and exhausted eyes and a mouth that only tries to show restraint.
My neck is long from standing tall and my shoulders strong from not collapsing.
My chest is not a place of comfort but a house of protection for the raging drum inside of it.
My hugs are warm and thick and uncapped.
They don’t make caps in my size.
I am an ice cream belly and thighs that would make the skies envious.
I have feet I can’t stand on yet.
I am a grammar error pointed out.
I am cold coffee reheated three times.
I am a silent argument with no poker face.
I am a morning person, If you are a stranger and I like you. Which is rare.
I am an unmade bed and unwashed jeans and my pumps smell musty after a day of wear.
I am chipped nail polish.
I am wrinkled clothes that will iron on my body.
I am four books read at the same time, never finished.
I am an empty photo frame and a cluttered desk drawer.
I am a boring first and middle name.
I am a closed bedroom door.
I am my father’s definition of beauty.
But I take a damn good picture.

I’m hurt that you took from me the opportunity to be involved in so many pivotal moments in your life like moving to a new country and finding your first job and turning 29 and meeting the love the love of your life and finding the courage to propose. I just wish I had been there to experience you on both the most nerve-wrecking and happiest day of your life.

( A Boy Named Blue)

The Hours (inspired by Virginia Woolf)

By Megan C Lucas

The flowers she said she would get herself
lay suffocating on the floor
Clarissa was quiet and kept to herself
Leonard was never a listener
As the children grew absent
the silence grew loud
and
Clarissa and Leonard lived through it
She said she would get the flowers herself
and
maybe he should have just let her do it.

Now Clarissa lay wet on the floor with the flowers
and Leonard just counts the hours.

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