How can we know a story by simply glancing as it's cover?
How can some ink on my shoulder make me someone I'm not
But a dab of makeup and a Sunday hat and I'm someone else entirely
In school we're defined not by just numbers but
by how new our shirts are and
how short our skirts are
How is any of that us
In work not defined simply by our work
But by the clarity of our skin
And the neutrality of our hair
Makes us less like people and more like interchangeable parts
Do the skirts and the hats and the ink talk?
Maybe that's just it
My ink marks the creative soul that lives behind
My shirt tells of an artist in the rough and curious mind
The skirt simply says it's damn hot outside
You can see in our covers a glimpse of us but you cannot know the story without giving us some trust
YOU ARE READING
The Rambling of an Untrained Mind
PoetryCollection of poetry inspired by the world happening around me. Trigger warning: contains triggering material noted with (TW) in title of piece All work is mine and stealing it will not be tolerated. If you would like to use it in any way other than...
