Odessa Lolita The Wounded Beauty

    Odessa Lolita: The Wounded Beauty

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.

I’ve learned to fear how friends can turn to foes,
And how our own can deal the cruelest blows.

She’s sun-warmed skin, yet holds a winter’s chill,
A striking flame—most fierce when bent on will.
Her lips are set, her gaze is cast above,
A swan-like form—poised on the edge of love,
Or flight… or fall… or something undefined.

Her past runs deep—no soft or simple mind.
She saw too much while still too young to know

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

In Odessa’s streets, love wore 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 convey.

She seeks a father somewhere in the past,
To mend a love she knew could never last.
And in that search, through shadow, fire, and breath,
She moves beyond what held her in the past.