Wicked

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He calls me wicked
and I smile –
tucking his words in my purse –
knowing I’ll look at them
when I’m not quite feeling
like myself –
when sweetness takes over
and my darkness gets swept
under a rug.
I’ll put the sugar in a corner
and scout the house for my shadow
until I find it,
and the dark is once again mine
to cherish and to grope.

 

*Inspired by a conversation with Oggy of Na triobloidi.(Click here to visit his blog).

 

(Photo by Freeimages.com)