Candied Heels

Maybe I wish I couldn’t sing so I could choose to be a Queen, Of a master’d trait I lack, and never knew to be a Jack I’m staying west to fill this house that’s not my home: taking sleep to hold, as if it were my own and rubbing white of paint, pretending to feel a blank release, surely time will wound this heal ...and cracks they gather, unbalanced skin which seal out, instead of in as callous as the zealot peels, Impulse like my candied heels Head drawn down unto the sheet - a boy of 13 old doth weep another boy past teen the same becomes a man, but doesn’t change