I shed myself of the meager
ignoring burning, defiant glances,
head held low, shoulders slumped.
My booted feet crush brittle grasses
and grind shards of glass over concrete
forming tiny crystals.
The meager hone stolen machetes,
carving runes of power into their flesh;
they are tribal now, their ugliness
beautiful, like butterflies emerging
wet-winged and flightless from cocoons.
They have outgrown me as saplings outgrow
the seed; I am just a shell in the dirt.















Comments
--
The world is an eraser for these words
- Jack Kerouac
we must destroy that which contains us
--
nobody is weird.. its just a word to discriminate people who others find different from them.
-dreamsdenied
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