peach daylily

She envies those with clear complexion,

Bolder lines or styled perfection,

Longs for leaves with different shape,

Curly locks instead of crepe;

She notices when other flowers

Spread their scent in evening hours,

Wishes she could clone the rose,

Or wear the Lady Slipper’s clothes.

She doesn’t see as her eyes wander

Yearning for whatever’s yonder,

She’s been painted, leaf to stem,

In beauty that could rival them.



First Kiss

No Botox here.

Braces weren’t in the cards.

Scoliosis made sure you couldn’t walk with a stack of books on your head,

so your gait is – awkward.  Mincing.

You never had the time or inclination to perm, straighten, tint, dye, crimp, or highlight.

You always dreamed of being loved by a handsome Prince

who would sweep you off your calloused feet

and love you for who you were.

You hadn’t reckoned on

being compared to the Kardashians,

competing with the pin-ups,

playing second-fiddle to an air-brushed myth.

So you settle for a frog prince,

warts and all,

and wait, alone,

night after night,

for your first kiss…