Monday, October 24, 2011


The self-absorbed masses zipping by on bikes, on foot,
And in crowded rooms buzzing about nothing
My flesh is present; my mind hiding deep in dank catacombs
As a phantom puppeteer pulls my strings

Maneuvering in social circles as giraffe’s first steps
On knobby kneed stick legs willing them to balance
Fighting against gravity to stand tall
Urging every ounce of gumption to move forward

The underground labyrinth my safe haven,
Molasses speech dulled by the journey to the surface
My once polished persona suffers, though the soul cares not;
Only working to protect my pearl immersed within

Longing to belong, but will no longer melt myself
To fill and fit the mold, as Savoir-Faire girls do
Time passes, injunctively cave dwelling for now
A moratorium of me

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