Angela

She has a million different faces.

She keeps them in a metal box

with rusting hinges and flakey paint.

 

She has built a fortress around her mind.

It towers high enough so that no one

could see over on either side, except

for the person standing on top.

 

She has laid a bulletproof blanket

over her heart. You could pound and

scream and beg her to let you in and she

won’t feel a thing.

 

Until she met you, she was a beautiful nightmare.

 

The day you came home for the very first

time, wearing a white onesie and clutching

a bottle in one hand and a thornless rose in the other, asleep.

 

Ever since then, her eyes have shone brighter

and her smile has grown sweeter.

 

You learned to crawl and she lost a face,

her fortress began to crumble,

her blanket began to rip.

 

You learned to speak and

she grew even purer.

 

But as you grew older,

you picked up every mask, brick, and thread

that she dropped.

 

You became the anchor and she was the float.

 

You were the yin and she was the yang.

 

Your minds were locked, you couldn’t

carry the weight of your conscience without

the other.

 

But as long as you remember

that Angela is your savior and

you are hers, you will never be able to drop that rose.

Because she is your mask,

your fortress,

and your bulletproof blanket.

Robin Roznitsky