shedding

Just shapes,

It’s all just shapes.

But the shapes are circles and squares,

acute angles and unfortunately,

tiny little boxes.

I am more shaped like a sunrise!

I am shaped like a spiral,

the wind,

an amoeba…

So how would I ever work?

How could I ?

Fit into your mold?

I hold my instruments just

slightly different.

I sing my songs just a little too loud.

I don’t smile when you want me to…

The making of me happened suddenly,

like the universe.

Chaotic but precise

(in its timing, at least)

And like her,

I will continue to be.

Before and after the skin is dead

and gone.

When it is merely a sheath; the old mask that suppressed me,

I will eat it.

Recycle it.

Into fuel for

My

Fire.

And it will taste like strawberries.

Regardless of what fucking shape it is.