melissaahowells
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Fine felt hat
you tried me on, within your saw-tooth mouth you made of me a song of insolence and spite. I was all those things of which you might, but couldn't be in the burning of the light. Rum tum trigger happy, how you make me a sober-simpering smile. You've fooled the fools that I have been, most of the while. So... Where'd I get that upside-downside turned-around so-sideways grin? Its a put on uncleanly with un-safety pins. The world likes you kept neat and clean in a mason jar of saline anti-septic broth. And if I live in it too long, I begin to foam and froth. So I've got to turn it over or be eroded away. Cuckoo-crazy isn't funny when you're not thought of in this way. And how is it you've been made to believe in the cleverness they say you never were... nor of the star who's shining bright inside of you. Come crawl beneath and live between your skin. Tell of the misfortune it feels like to be you. How not to fit in. And what is it to be a hidden in some secret sin not of your making. I want to be set free from your feeling of imposition. I know what its like to lose. Come visit me at my broken down place. Its not so small here that I can't accommodate you with space. There is room for everyone for crazy fingers touch us one and all. You can spend a few moments, you can pass your years. I've reluctantly weighed anchor here far for too long. Its an uncomfortable comfort here. Are you a visitor, or, are you an impatient patient, dear? (Here's your placard. Take a seat. Its been reserved. We all have a name at the table of momentary insanity.) LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS WORK BY THIS AUTHOR FOR THIS SITE TITLE Copyright January 16 2013 time stamped 10:11 am PST All Rights Reserved by this Author Melissa A Howells/Meloo / Straight From Her tilt-a-world Vote for this poem |
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