Crud

Sometimes I say too much

Reveal my crutch

Sell free peeks at the sludge

 

The silence is deafening

The looks bending

The weight heavy, unending

 

The opinions they never say

The judgment I’ll never stay

The disappointment, the gray

 

She’s a bit obsessed with her mistakes

Lost in that massive wake

Just release the bindings, that’s all it takes

 

I know the thoughts are there

Swimming through my veins like poisoned air

That hardens in a grinding glare

 

Their thoughts are not mine

Maybe it is just my imagination run wild

Maybe I’m a child in size nine

 

And with every step lament

I don’t walk so steady, I’m bent

I don’t fill the holes with wet cement

 

Or wrap myself in colored lace

Or cover the wounds in god’s good grace

Or practice my happy face

 

So maybe

In the end

Off-keel

Is my center

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