|
| |
The Authentic I
I cannot see untainted,
The world without the warping windows.
I fail to make, for I am merely
An illusion of inconsistencies
Stolen from society.
I wonder how open a mind can be before its brains
start to
spill.
The buttons on a blouse,
the proportions of her face,
the rules of a tennis court,
Lost in this familiar place.
The simple essay makes me think.
A pen out of ink.
We shrink.
What will happen when I experience
The real world?
Get a grip
And grow up.
Copyright ©
Annabelle Bentley
|
|