Born to breath
In the path of your
Closest friend.
Discovery made from
Circumstance.
A far cry from what you thought
Or imagined.
Did you honestly think
That you could avoid
Events personal to the result of your being?
Loud and unforgivable
Like the faucet smothering
The sound of conversation.
“She shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,
I can’t whssssssssssssssss.”
But who do you feel sorry for?
Is it not yourself that
Stomped one
Proverbial foot in front of
Another
Eating and gnawing
On the words
That you so cleverly created?
Or did you create them?
Confused person.
Never looking
Beyond the tip of your nose.
I pass the puck
Into your able hands
Asking for only what
You are capable of:
Loud Silence.
Thought.
And the ability to
Overcome
What you’ve perceived to have
Lost.
Defeat clings to
Your outfit--Mispronouncing
The words you’ve
Chosen to respell.
But who determines the orthography?
You’re not wrong to
Speall the word
Differantley.
You are simply
And utterly
Creating
And recreating
The hand of change.
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