A Touch Off

I think you mistook being delicate for being sensitive,
But I didn’t want to be tiptoed upon like eggshells.
I wanted to be embraced.

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And sometimes time flies
like a hummingbird
beating like mad
just to hover in place

Yes time flies—
and time fleas
like the sugar in its blood
til it’s drained to vacant saltiness

Type

They said, So what’s your type?
I said, Haven’t got one,
But there must be more than two,
And if you’re in, me and you
We can play this game with no teams and no winners–
We’re neither the saints nor the purest of sinners,
But be my incentive for sticking around on earth,
And I’ll be yours too.
We’ll never find stars down here I’m told,
But our participation here’s prized above gold.

So let’s make a story about me and you
No need to represent
Nothing to represent
Not theory nor experiment.

This is a story about me and you:

 

Rules Of Conditional Acceptance:

They’re so glad to have you here
So long as you’re not too much of what you are,
And can fit yourself inside their narrow outline for one of the good ones
(Exactly one of the good ones).

But now you notice it’s feeling tight
And you’ve spent your life climbing up their pedestal
So you can be a prop:
One season change away from going out of style,
One slip away from getting knocked off.

I don’t want to be one of your good ones anymore.

Exposure

Cheap strippers might bare it all for a few bucks,
but we’re artists here–
we’ll do it for the mere exposure.

When empty hands talk
up their “great exposure”
they knock our covers off
and bring us to their feet,
because we know they know we think
to be more seen must be a good thing.

So turn up the exposure:
show your soul and your skin and any dark place in between–
you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t desperate be seen.

Shed another layer, shed another light, shed another tear or more,
until you’re washed out in bright lights
from overexposure.