Will my words never come out right?
Will I forever be misunderstood?
A phrase, a whisper, a laugh
Uttered in peace
So quickly framed in darkness.
At fault, prodder, malcontent.
Ever the bearer of poison
To sicken the happiness
Of those I love and fear.
Never have I worn these hateful robes.
This snakeskin does not fit,
It chafes and burns and stings and pinches.
Until I resent my state.
Bound, a player at your leisure,
I suffer your condemnation,
Almost forgetting the truth.
But still I wonder…
Why am I your darkness?
Why have you made yourself mine?
When I wrote this poem I so clearly saw a picture in my head and I tried my best to copy it down onto paper, but unfortunately I was not given my mother’s talent and skill with regards to drawing, lol! That being said and you all now forewarned about my meager ability, here is my drawing of the Snakeskin Maiden…