In Her Despair
time is boxed
worrying much of hopes
thrown to forgetting
like the admiration
for stuffed bears
and pink ribbons
when she was twelve
breathing revelations for air
in such a short span
of her clandestine self
too is not as redeeming
today is not ripe
as the petitions given
for her angels to claim
apologies for the cold kiss
that fluttered away
from this boy’s lips
such uncertainty has just built
a bridge to his heart
a limitless ground
to expand the vast plains
of her desires and pains
