Picking me apart like a lab rat
But I am a frog
My brain and my intestines are twisted and intertwined with your intellectual fork and knife.
Tossed salad nerves. Lo Mien
My heart is not my hand;
My brain and bowels are being labeled wrong
By you no less.
You are saying things to me that you have been meaning to say to yourself
And you know it. You fight back tears of rage
You don’t even see how angry you really are
You are not yet a doctor.
If only I could melt into the soft green beneath me
Or is it blue…?
I don’t have a solitary notion.
And I have ever less as you caress my bloody beating soft tissue—
As hard as it may seem to you at times—
With your voice
And that of a Red Coat with black tears and a rich sorrow
Singing about some lost love written by someone else less famous
You can’t force yellow where you proclaim -swear of even- so plainly it’s absence
Why are you still here?
Because I didn’t give you the fantasy tragic romance that your previous lovers-with-children have?!
I am sorry for having been broken.
I will still protect myself.
And you still may cry on my shoulder, on my pillow, on my boyish breasts…
Wherever you please.
And I will hold you because green is close enough to where you wanted to be.
Created: Mar 29, 2012KathleenShayna Document Media