trophy wives.

A trophy
The kind you'd drink from to feel the fire line your insides
But not the kind you'd put up on the mantle

It doesn't take a hero to win
But it does take one to lose
And your mind will follow suit
And I will follow you

Gold plated;
Never real gold
Just a shine to cover up all the copper in her eyes
And the broken bones that calcified
And the wrists covered in scarlet dye 
And the wretched taste of acid bile
And the off-white, phoned-in half-a-smile
With the whitest lies
And the grayest truths

feminismpoetryself loathingshort poem

◄ acts of kindness.

ringleader ►


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