And that lie was not alabaster
Her marbles didn’t fall through cranial cracks
She just wanted to belong like the perfect woman
With tiny peccadillos priming her to imperfection
Yet glowing like a saint only tarnished with warm blood

And that one lie in her past
Carried her like a colorful kite in the wind
Yet her conscience was the kite-runner
Always tugging her, reminding her of the truth

And with time the lie inflated like a spandex bubble
And her lips were sucked in like a vacuum cleaner
To spend the rest of their days
Saving grace in purgatory


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