This exercise
is an exorcism
trying to extract
the venomous beauty
the raw purity
naked, vulnerable
and loathe to submit
to the thousand tiny
pen pricks I visit upon it
finds itself attired
in clothes that do not
quite fit or flatter
and laid out
on clean white sheets
now tainted with
indelible ink
Never quite
as I pictured it
when it's over
I denounce
distance myself
and despise it
is it any wonder
I turned my back
on it, on you
for so long?
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