Hooked
Magazines teach us to swoon, to fall, To dangle ourselves out there brightly And be caught, trimmed up Shiny and soft, bobbing in the waters, Frozen smile and deathly limp arms Waiting to be eaten alive. As though being chosen, being loved Were the end goal of our lives And the highest honor. They were right about The end of our lives and they were Wrong about the honor. I threw the fish back to their mothers And decided it was high time to Find my own shores. © 2024 @StaceyBattlestheWorld
