it’s not that you won’t see me
—my obnoxiousness, my haughtiness,
my coordinated limbs and clumsy tongue—
but if i stumble maybe you won’t see
my pencil break in half
i can smirk at your self-deprecation
come humor you with sympathy
and drive the splinters in my palm
and hope i don’t stop bleeding
then i think i’ll play around
with words like ‘nondescript’; you know?
ambiguous and arrogant
like i’m some kind of poet
and i’ll make you laugh through apathy
when i talk about control
while pretty kata number seven falters
just before cloud nine
i can make you dance, i swear
just give me time, i’ll
weave you words that count for something
cry, perhaps, or smile, when
i actually believe them
and maybe with some luck, one day
i’ll roll out of bed and keep on rolling
and somehow make it aimless
like i’m drifting out to sea
--catch me when i stop running, please
so i’ll take my damn bow anyhow
with that stupid broken pencil that i
tuck back behind my ear
so i’ll find the strength to turn my cheek
when They curl their lip at me like i was
something washed ashore

…