brave new weird world
the striations like tattoos- i never got any
’cause events and growth are never captured in those.
i would rather be the blank fleshy slate i’ve always been –
style in neutrality. besides, no one cares.
no one looks at me
more than me,
the world is shouting its differences more and more like pride.
i love it but it makes me feel lonely. i used to be the weirdo
and the world shows me more each year. i was never the weirdo.
and where does my hat hang if not on that? the old sitcoms, the books,
the memories and legends and poetry? i still have pride, but it’s in tatters,
it’s almost more comfortable that way. that’s hard to explain.
the brave new weird world is a highwire act
and i’m not afraid of heights
but i don’t go looking for them, either.
i am slowly etched
more and more
it used to be a theme, a joke,
didn’t know it would become my whole life.
meaning strung to meaning
but not blood,