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