Small angel in a little white dress,
Pink pupils a reflection of the rose-colored lenses
Worn all too close to the eyes
He took her hand and whispered
Such strange sweetness,
Carefully crafting a halo to match her own.
It didn’t have to be that way,
But he spun his web just so.
She was unable to untangle herself.
And so when the white dress
Hit the icy grey tile
There was no more putting it back on.
Every inch of
What was exposed
Was eventually consumed.
Nothing left to give.
Nothing left to have.
Nothing left to be or to claim.
And when you don’t belong to yourself,
Who do you belong to?
Ali Kochik is a third-year English Writing major with minors in Journalism and Women’s and Gender Studies. AK908461@WCUPA.EDU