In the halls of discontentment
In the crowded spaces of resentment
Are these cloth coverings of protection?
Because of our wounds of rejection?
We are all mummied up
Spilling this blessed cup
Blocking our vision because of these cloths
We are could-have-been-butterflies moths
When will we allow our ugliness to shine?
That’s where mess and glory allow the stars to align
© Carly Wiggins 2018