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Ask me what I familiarize with, a countless stockpile of questions,
Questions I can’t really answer, most of the time I lie.
Children with inquiries and simple minds, tell me, where does the sky come from?
Those IPS classes never taught me anything, my head is much too dense to preserve minimal grams of information.
But who cares about sugar and salt, that thing we weren’t supposed to touch with its thick texture and rocky appearance.
I was thankful for all the bullshit I used to write, seemed a clutter of detail could satisfy one’s hunger for knowledge.
Keep explaining until it makes no sense at all.
The grades just weren’t satisfying so I tipped the glass, until all the water poured out.
Onto and off the edge of the table until it was evaporating back into nothing, a nothing I couldn’t explain.
Start from the bottom to work to the top but in effort for challenge, I cut the steps off a ladder and plummeted down, down the sides.
The view from the bottom, you witness so much more when you can’t touch, enjoy with sight and rejoice in the sewage of your intellect.
Who said we could retain all those words and facts when all we really needed was 2+2?
It’s just so amusing that we only learn the same things in school, categorize the sentiment with some vague word.
Can I be the irony in your restless lesson, while you pace and pace around the room?
Plunge into some depression, she looks at me with a composed frown,
Why am I so down?
Look around this cube and tell me why my windows are boarded and why there are diamonds in the bulletproof glass?
I’m resorting to endless searches in cabinets, a remedy to cure the bored.
Each piece of chalk and plastic, colored dipped sticks, have been touched more than I.
The shoved away supplies have seen more joy from the pupil’s digits.
What is sacrifice without splendor?
All the art therapy has broken the purpose, so it is for the gloomy and doomed.
The bowls and spheres have been the symbols of some relation to the end of a memoir never written.
But there was one thing I observed and I couldn’t help but look for patterns in the days and take note of color.
Teach me how to wrap my skin in cloths and hide all my beauty.
No one has to know… There’s nothing under the discord of bag and fabric.
Not until I get forced into some marriage I won’t want, but oh no, I won’t blame the faith.
There is no success for a non-believer like me, I don’t see the progressives of fidelity or a singled sexed God.
I’m sorry, I wish I could just agree; I’ve tried the saints and seas, I’ve tried the purging and the prayers.
And everytime I fail, it’s just another drop in the scales.
What happened? I’m appalled.
I can’t help but laugh at your rejection of my apathy. It tickles me, the things you think of me.
I’m sorry, too much pressure. I’ve disregarded my priorities.
Really, I just want you to go away. Develop a new virtue; acceptance.
 Kalista Rupert · Tue Mar 27, 2007 @ 04:49am · 1 Comments |
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