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?