She always dreamt

Of being something big

Poised, elegant, and

systematically refined.

The type who evokes a nostalgic

flash

from the lense of perpetuation.

And she wanted

that life.

When curves flirt with lines

that invert,

and embrace smugly the bones that contain

her heart.

She

needed

this life.

To gawk around, like an interpretation

of routine.

Like a simulation of her

nourishment.

Clear and utter indifferences

of the alike.

But these flashes help her remember:

Emaciating the poignant curves

that once told her who she was.

And conceived in the shadows of

those who maul her

steal her

ravage her,

with their

flashes

and lies-

strip her down to size,

and replace her disposition with

filth.

But this is what she wanted;

That little black

dress

that finally told her

who she was

and who she could

have.

This is what she wanted:

stiletto heels and the essence of chic.

Her ankles were always stronger than her intuition:

Aren't her bones couture?