Bearded

An only child, a tanglewood foundling
suckled by grandmother's stories
of half-men and dastard warnings.
I was torn to school by a den of claws.

My talent emerged at puberty,
skin soured by a masculine brush.
The bubblegum harpies hissed.
By witches hex I stayed unkissed.

I spawn romantic ancestry,
a shadow prince for the barbs of black thistle
that cage a longing for that awakening prick
as my silver blade hacks a path
around a palace of pointless lipstick.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.