Poemriah

I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me.
– The Outsiders, S.E. Hinton 

..

Looking in
{again}
,
I wonder just how long
it’s been
{no doubt}

since I was
on the inside,
looking
out.
.

This poem
is a freak,
a geek, a chic example
of what you just might not
want to be. It’s

a nerd. Absurd. Lives
on the third rock
from the sun, but
still says alien things.

This poem is strange,
deranged, on the out
-skirts of town, the
other side of the tracks,
at least two cards shy
of a full
deck.

It’s tumultuous and temp
-estuous and testy and tangled.
It’s getting ready to dangle
its participles
as far as the eye can see.

But here’s the thing:
……………… it’s free.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Art by manicddaily.com.
Prompted by toads. 

 

 

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