White Wires
Prickly tricky sickening white wires stab me
Like a miniscule Mike Myers with a fire poker smacking at my gums
But do these wires define me?
I’m an adult with braces, yes,
But I’m an adult nevertheless.
(Oh that must suck because you’re in coll-)
Yes. It sucks, and rips, and pulls
At my gums and my self-image
But the grace is that
What I says is the truth to me
And no pre-defined, pre-purported
Singular entity of anyone’s exemplary, quintessential,
Idiotic idea of the perfect man will hold me back.
I’m a phoenix with an arched back of scoliosis
and a face scorched with acne.
But even in my state of parabolic, paralyzed preadolescence
the recursive discourse of diction will restrain me icy chains
to the chair of narcissism and self-image.
At the end of the day, I will always be ashamed of my white wires.
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