blue dress

Furbished in a full blue dress,
according to scattered friends— radiantly
transformed from my tattered blue dress,
which did not cover my legs.
As though I did not matter then.

And by a whirl of some force, a boy
of curly hair, pulled my hand. Looking at me.
We weren’t friends. Why is he here,
looking at my with those eyes?
Why me, this mess?

I told him who I was.
Nonsense he replied.
It was when flowers sprung
from the laden snow
he told me I was beautiful.

I shook my head and picked up
my dress, revealing
whipped calves and feet –
Bruises, welts and wounds.
Oozing puss --
Purple and green.
Bleeding from my pencil-thin legs
I turned my face from his perfection.

It wasn’t so unexpected when he turned into another boy.
This one with a soothing stare.
who washed my feet. Tendering each
Bruise. Welt. Wound.

I thought he’d kiss them and I cringed;
On my bed I had nothing to offer.


another note: i have a few "lost" poems right now, meaning that the most updated versions have not been saved on my computer but are locked up in my house in Newport News. These poems are my newest creations and I am sad that they will not be posted until August.