"It seems like
It doesn't bother her that she's lonely."
If outward appearances were all I was...
Perhaps, that is the place to start.
Am a limaçon,
To put all that math knowledge to use.
I live in a shell, and it is my home.
The shell is beautiful, symmetrical,
I work to keep it clean, and everywhere,
I carry it with me.
Inside the shell, I am ugly.
My body is soft, and though I would like to see it harden,
That shell is all that's hard.
I am weak and slimy.
Anything I touch sticks to me, I keep a piece of it
With me, I paint it into my shell.
It's not quite mine, but some will be fooled, and think it is.
Finally, I leave my dirt, my trail behind me,
And it is so strikingly obvious
Where I have been.
As something will eat me, or smash me.
I would like very much to squirm into the shell and
Come out, but I would starve.
Am a limaçon.
March 17, 2005.