Odessa Lolita

From dusty sins my verses take their flight,
Like wings, they carry me beyond the night.
To her, my muse, I dedicate each line,
Yet hide her name from crowds that intertwine.

For I am wary—friends can turn to foes,
And kin themselves may strike the cruelest blows.

She’s sun-kissed warm, yet carries winter’s chill,
A stunning flame—most fierce when filled with will.
Her lips are set, her gaze is cast above,
A swan-like form, as if prepared for love—
Or flight… or fall… or something undefined.

Her past is harsh—no simple, fragile mind.
She’s seen too much, though she was far too young,

At thirteen, standing at the edge of fate,
She drank from life a cup too harsh, too late.

In Odessa’s streets, love gnawed her to the bone,
A gambler’s rhythm carved into her own.

By Apollo struck—Achilles’ hidden scar,
One fleeting wound can shape us from afar.

No poet’s thought could ever trace her way,
Her inner storms no language can portray.

She seeks a father—somewhere in the past,
To fix the love she knew could never last.
And in that search, through shadow, fire, and breath,
She lifts herself beyond what broke her past.