I’m not as still as you want me to be
Supposedly, I have rage underneath
Come closer,
the surface glides but the shades and the tones they skip
like rocks over the water and dirt cycling into the blades of green
I’m not as smooth as you’d like to believe
lopsided beating heart racing to burst at the gleams
and everybody belongs to the lines and
object to the grooves and oh, so disapprove of my
piously round and
unabashedly scandalous
shaped obstination
curvature, foul and indentured
soulful as fruit on a useful, yet lifeless plank.
j
cruzfolio 