Under a palm tree
I examine my seersucker soul
and try to figure
how it fits
in a hand-me-down world.
My mind tries to peel off
the real people from
the dolls’ heads.
They all seem so much
more pristine than me
more pristine than you
more pristine than they really are.
Sometimes it feels like I live
in a jungle full of inebriated scavengers.
With my sad heart in my hand
I continue to venture into
a high-octane world
while my secret soul stands
like a leper hoping to heal in the sun.
No comments:
Post a Comment