505
Jaded,
weary of
pyrite glimmers and
faded glory,
cracked lips zip sealed
from the
disapproving glue of
days past,
words said internalize and
dance around my head
like a broken metronome,
a magical place
where everyone's a winner,
refuse to eat dinner every
passing
maypole.
I stare at the floor, wail
because I’m still
five.
I want to go home,
crybaby
sucks her thumb..
kicks mounds while tears flow
like a babbling creek,
I’m still a sinner behind
doe eyes and
limp hair,
I'll do whatever he wants
to say it
bluntly.
You take the wheel,
clockwise, view the endless
droning of small talk and cheek
hollows.
Wallow, pout, scream, shout
I’m five and fifty,
seen everything but innocent.
A beautiful contradiction
between apple juice and bountiful friction.
Copyright © Josephine Koch | Year Posted 2016
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