Mora has a heart of bones,
a never more obsidian crow stare
that has seen more than
she wanted, and less than she dreamed.
In the yellow cornsilk days of unaware
she grew in bamboo spurts of too
much too soon, a pink lipped dreamer
who tasted vinegar when he was smiling sugar.
She is not kiss and tell, more graveyard dirt and spell.
Pain has lessons. Healing has strength.
The he of hell is living his consequences.
Mora is thriving in forgive but never forget.
©Susie Clevenger 2024
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