Defeat

Alone to face her choices
all lined up in a row,
painted faces laughing at her
everywhere she goes.

The screams that rip her heart out
are stifled deep within
not a soul can hear them
outside this box that she’s in.

And the box keeps getting smaller,
the air is getting stale,
the lack of proper oxygen
makes her skin a little pale,

While behind the fancy curtains
that keep out all the light
the marks from clawing fingers
are hidden from sight.

Pieces of her broken spirit
lay scattered at her feet
she's afraid she’ll never find herself
beneath the layers of defeat.



march 2006
Janet Reid





Awarded by Poetic Constellations