Handle With Care (Poetry)

Stained

My mother hangs me like a picture

A protrait stained with pride

my eyes sparkle like diamonds

with a million faceted eyes

They glimmer out towards me

Mocking as I dress

in the satiny violet prison

that my body cannot process

as the fabric clings like smiles

to the foreign substance of my skin

Concealing the persecution

of the little boy within

Whose face is but a shadow

in the cobwebbed corners of my mind

Taunting as the portrait

of the girl I left behind

Whose valleys dips and curves

could not belong to me

But rather the portrait

who casts my mother's memory

Of the little girl who smiled

in her ballerina shoes

with her nightgown of chiffon

in a thousand shades of blue

Whos body still imprisons me

with breasts that I can't hide

As my mother hangs me like a picture

a portrait stained with pride.