Skip to content

in which i find “her”

July 3, 2011

A poem in the third person posted at Kettle. We are and aren’t ourselves. Narrators tell their own stories and the stories of others. None can be believed.

I once trusted both the plain face that greeted me in the morning and the one I decorated with eye make-up and spiked hair. I trust neither of them now.

Advertisements

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: