Unconventional Love Sonnet - The Last
Her eyes are a storm of dark skies. I thought
she was someone else: the mornings we sat
together drinking coffee, warm sunshine and
the simple, quiet comfort of touching hands.
Maybe she is that woman. But the cruel hag
in her mirror tells her she is fat, ugly,
unlovable, the fairy tale turned inside out,
and she believes, slumped shoulders.
Her words feel frantic, a torrent of pain
pouring from black clouds she lives with,
as though the woman I knew has surrendered
to the rising waters, not wanting to swim.
Her drowned body in the mirror, but the glass
only distracts her from the stormy loss of self.