
The Dirty Boulevard
I fought my way through hell. But, I was lucky enough to have kissed an angel. I felt the scaring prick of abuse. But, then I blushed hard against the curve of alabaster skin. And delighted in her freckles counted there. I wanted to give each a name. And celebrate the imprint of their uniqueness. Forever. Instead, rough fingers traced the smoother edges of a dream right before the wake-up call of another scheduled good-bye. A clean dream. One in which healthier avenues would eventually prevail. And claim gentle victory over the forces of narcissistic intent. But being born to wander the dirty Boulevard leaves little room for acclimation. Or even acceptance. Not when legalities constantly threaten. And commitment teeters under the influence of abusive memory. …
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