DEATH Poem: I did not know the deceased personally, by Nicole Grannie

Blackened tears pour
from blues, plop into
my pores from a lash
poking my pupil.
I am popping

my knuckles, popping
Mom’s patience- she kicks
my shins in the pews. Peer
over the blubberers, hear
the pastor’s praise
for the person who was
apathetic at best, ignore
the pinch of pain. I am

painted pretty for
my parents, pulled
to the parish against
my pleasing. I put
on pumps instead
of boots because beauty
is better than improper
posture. I didn’t

paint my lashes with
waterproof ink- I bathed
them in lush carbon.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest