The Sound of Ink

We were ribbon hung like party favors, organza dolls with hair curled into the fantasy innocence didn’t have a price.   The feral me already knew the dark side of attention, the coffin sunlight becomes when a monster curtains tulips with his shadow.   Born without claws I learned to sharpen my tears into crybaby scalpels people would avoid because once the truth is opened eyes could no longer claim blindness.   A dandelion in a murmuration of starlings who devoured blue sky in the endless search to be called pretty, I grew in the spines of books, rainbows of escape, and the nurture of oak tree nanny’s that taught me how to stand through the harshest crushing wind.   ©Susie Clevenger 2022 Shay's Word Garden Word List #9        

Photography by Oladios "I can't see the end of me." Mortality lives in the back of my mind, the place thoughts rarely visit. Why contemplate an empty heart while fairytales still form in my imagination. over the rainbow I fly the sound of color silver drops of moon ©Susie Clevenger 2019   The Sunday Muse #80