Denial sits upon the crown of my head
Bathed in course, satirical waters
Of ambivalent teenhood.
Its bony wing rests above my ear
Its back arched along the curve of my skull,
Craning my neck to sustain the weight
Of the denial I so yearn to suppress.
Its calf dangles just under my brown,
Concealing the truth
Woven into my eyes
By my own fingers and thread.
“How I wish you could perceive my handiwork;
How I wish I could capture your reaction
To the multicolored string in my gaze
Dangling down the brink of my eye
And darkened by the river of tears to my foot’s heel.”
Before my denial’s blanketing calf,
Clothed by the mistrust of ambiguous glares of judgment,
Falsity is truth,
And my truth is a fairytale.
And to all outside my colorful gaze,
This paradox is clarity
And perhaps, love, you are the writer.