My Wildcard Ego – poem

My wildcard Ego by Amee Dickson (pic and poem)

Rusty shadows of carnations
All Wrapped up in catastrophes,
Beautiful wildcard allusions
With every hair out of place.

She is a symphony
Of No written light,
Alone I cannot feel alive
Without her buoyant whirlwind.

The Eclipse of her tongue
With blind details and
Convincing invisible lies
I ask myself, Why am I?

Why am I her welcome doormat
Applauding her to stand on me,
In her high pointed stilettos
For her emotional security?
I don’t paint, write, or dance anymore
but wait for my allotment,
Of respect for my dignity,
holding out for her scraps.

Turning to me quite blanked
Her eyes ablaze with revolution
My Wildcard Ego laughs,
“Because you let it happen!”