needs a whirl,
The epidermis some exfoliating;
That nest of greasy hair….
Could use a tousle with a brush.
The whole of her calls desperately
For an abundant frolic with some soap,
……or an improvisational meditation,
A kneel down; a shout out for hope.
No one else can see her illness,
No one feels the sluggish, tepid pulse
the dull thump of her blood,
Only she can demand compassion,
The kind her eyes plead for in the mirror,
Only she can know the triumph she lives
No longer dismissing reality with a beer