Dressed With Dust
She wore a hot pink band-aid on her finger.
It covered the torn skin
That was clawed and bit,
But the little hands still trembled with insecurity.
The young eyes were red.
She wore a hood of shame over her head
And hoped no one would see her.
The little hands, a bit bigger now, still trembled.
Haunting laughter and harsh words kept the eyes red.
Now she wore a cape because she was a hero.
The hands weren’t fully grown and never would be,
But at least they didn’t tremble.
The eyes were hidden under their lids,
But they had no reason to be red,
Not in this beautiful silence.
A tragic, beautiful, permanent silence.
So everyone wore black
With trembling hands and red eyes.
Those harsh and haunting voices cried.
Yet, soon they all forgot,
And now she wears nothing but dust.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Dressed With Dust by Nadia Figueroa )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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