Written for:  The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #180

Words:  sticks, ashes, fear, posey, lot, joy, flames, love, identity, discernment, selfless, polarize

Her name was Rosie;
they called her Posey
because she loved striking
poses of celebrities, and asking
you to guess their identities.

Joy of assuming other skins
polarized her from her true
self, lessening more and more
as she tried to discern
who she was. Her fears flamed.
Personalities melded. Was this
her lot in life? Would she be
forever stuck, posing at dizzying
speed, while ashes of her core
piled around her like leftovers
from a pyre?


About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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2 Responses to Posey

  1. Misky says:

    Well done, S. My brain couldn’t produce anything out of these words, and I finally gave up. Yours is wonderful!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Denise des Jardins Poitras says:

    It reads at a fast pace. I like it. Poor Rosie.

    Liked by 1 person

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