They sneer in her direction,
call her frigid, detached,
so sinfully unlike them.
She watches the social zombies—
their eyes hard, their lips twisted by poison,
their rage unmasked—and she thinks, Deep
down in the bones, everyone feels.
photo by Vladimir Palyanov, on Unsplash
- for Poets and Storytellers United (Weekly Scribblings #50: Down in My Bones, “think about how we might finish this sentence, ‘Down in my bones, I feel _____________’. If you’d rather tackle this from a different angle, you also have the option to write about bones in general. It also isn’t necessary to use the exact phrasing.”), and for Twiglet #207 (“an emotional ape”).