Wednesday, April 11, 2012


The word
Cracked against my back,
Knocking me to my knees
Where the gravel bit

The hooks on the word
Dragged across
The tender flesh
Of my back,
Ripping into it,
Leaving long, open wounds.

You should this,
You should that,
You should be this,
You should do that,
You should.

I should,
But I don't want to.

I did not want to
Live like the seaweed.
Tossed here and there
By the uncaring sea,
Until one day,
It is ripped from
It's roots and floats
Aimlessly through the brine.

I want to be the grand oak,
The strong red wood,
The unyielding green heart
That have endured the ages
And promise to live on
With ease.

So go on,
Tell me what I should do,
What I should not do,
Whip me mercilessly
With the six letter word.
My body might falter,
My will may quiver,
But I shall not yield.

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