She left her love behind

in a velvet-covered box

on the side of the road near a

highway marker reading

“Last Stop for Second Thoughts.”

She’d been raised and conditioned

and persuaded to believe

that her “other half” waited

behind shiny gentleman’s shoes

and a flask of pinot noir…

waiting and smirking

and grinning his Cheshire grin,

with invisible shackles to hold her in.

She left her love behind

in a heart-thumping box

with a wry knowledge of other women

and a silver-tined sigh.

She strained to remember the tune

of a little girl on a swingset…

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star….”

Did you know you’d fall so far??

The feel of silk-threaded pantyhose.

The smell of cologne and deceit.

The brashness of one so red-lipsticked.

She stared out at the moon, that confetti moon,

that competed for light in her wide-agape eyes.

Her feet hurt…stilettos.

Her pride hurt… 

Plagiarized,

Compromised,

Cauterized.

Sacrificed.

She wandered smoke-filled rooms

and hate-filled tombs of “I Do”s and “What If?”s,

Brought her ‘round to the one-dimensional,

cardboard standup version of her.

She took her love to the furthest bounds,

and decorated it with feathers

and glitter

and make-believe;

on beautiful paper wings.

She thought “Surely I’ll shine now.”

She taught her love to soar.

Never dreaming the man who’d captivated her curiosity,

and the millions of boys who followed in pursuit

also carried flaming arrows

and razor-sharp precision

and a taste for blood.

Over and over, ‘til her love lay

Breathless

and Bruised

and Confused.

She cried one. last. tear.

And remembered her name.

She kicked off those heels,

and expectations,

and misconceptions,

and left her love in an

iron-clad box

on the side of a dirty road

near a marker that reads

“Here is Freedom.”

And there is sits still….

And her shadow grows long

as she skips away with no regret,

casting her bare feet in crimson dust,

and laughs her little girl laugh,

and shakes off the shackles

and is gone.