Starting small, with only known things

for Imogen


Before the polished sand of her mirror

Freckled and pale

Limbs and moles as she remembered



in dismantling

her self a specimen for


A tally of flaws


How radical would it be

to love instead?

Were that even allowed


starting small

with only known things



Love for her nose

these ankles


are ok

I guess

And on she builds

Credence like jenga rising


on the brink of collapse


Unlike Emily,

compass & chart

Are far from futile in this

untraveled territory


Mania or self-love?

is she latching on to hope or

is she hopeful?


Like those bees

drunk on the nectar of confusing life

she stands bare to my life’s most ardent critic

And brashly

in the face of proscribed loathing

she finds beauty

And soon like the butterfly

is glittered in this magic dust

known to most

as confidence.


by Clementine Yost ©

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s