Hanging by a cord transparent
in its shade of blue
twisted, weaved by the golden fingertips of the elders who guard me from nuisances that claim to know who I love.
They hinder my walk with a hitch
I can't identify,
cross dressed with obedience
and appropriate behavior always,
only tears bullets from my eyes while trying to smile apologetically.
I want to break free like fireflies without wings captured in a glass carafe it's stopper fashioned from strands of pain from someone else.
That basket made of wicker by blinded eyes and one deaf ear
will pay my attention with an abundance of distractions
I won't know who I am come time for inventory a convoluted mess of pain created, the pain I borrowed from others.
Storing my affliction away in the deep-rooted bark made of polystyrene with its promise to never decay.
©iris3690
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