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,

Small angel,

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

Leave a Comment