Do I wear my veil
and tuck my tears
in for sweet dreams?
Mama, do I cover my skin?
Will the thick, black cloak
hug my scars
the way you hug me?
Mama, do I sit behind latticed windows?
Are those lacy shadows
of your lullabies?
And, Mama, will my scars shine?
Shine like the sun through my window,
where wind parades past the bars
and twirls my eyelashes into a curtsy?
Wait, Mama, what about my eyes?
Will they crystalize when tears flow?
Like gems in a dark cave?
Will they still shine?