zewdina

A childhood saturated in darkness 

Like roots of a lotus – submerged in the torment

Of the Baltimore mud, where Eleanora's likeness

Grew alone at nine, in juvenile court. 

I know how a broken mirror feels

With its shattered scar, it's betrothed 

When tears are spilt on its face

A once foreign tear is now her own

We step on its burdened back