Her Hair Was Bone White

 
Her hair is bone white
She evokes metaphors
And transforms regular words into verbs

She pedestal-ed my words
She stair-cased my soul
And left me broken and droopy

Is droopy the word
And if it is then its giddy
Giddy is a word for girls
Yet my hair is white like bone
And her's is too

We are the Chosen Ones
Only in my dreams
You see she has the ability
To evoke these metaphors and similes
From inside of me

But I am the poet
And she is just the inspiration
Which makes me more important
She is the amused muse

She is the one who gave the inspiration
So I guess the writer is worthless
Like the paper and the pen
You can scratch these words into your skin

The truth is
Her hair is white like bone
And she is the one who evokes these metaphors from me
She is the one who makes me say things like
She pedestal-ed my words
She stair-cased my soul
Until finally I was god
Or goddess because all evil is born of men
And I want to be without sin

Her hair was bone
As if she had been dead too long
For even laws of death to govern her corpse
As she makes nouns into verbs

She footstool-ed me
And left me broken and needy
Pleading for more than
What I am seeing

A poem to the white-haired beauty

Truth