Wardrobes
There was always a slight aggression
In the smile she wore
underneath
A facetious lilt in her
laughter,
Otherwise pure and sweet.
The tears she held;
I could see them through the
sparkle
The headaches she must’ve
endured,
from the weight of a thousand transgressions
on her shoulders.
She assembled it well,
though,
this wardrobe of nonchalance,
her armor of temporary surrender.
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