I feel like my head is made out of paper.
I'm flimsy,
easily manipulated,
and apathetic for the most part.
I could care less
if someone were to fold me
into a plane
destined for nose dives,
or a boat
to be melted in the bathroom sink.
If I were left crippled
and crumpled
inside a waste bin,
I'd probably be thinking of
avocado sandwiches
and freshly brewed tea.
If I were left at the bottom
of the porcelain pond,
I'd probably think of
the reprehensible amount of money
that I owe to my public library.
If someone were to take
a pencil or a pen
to my face and scribble
an address,
a love note,
profanity
or dogma
It'd all be the same to me.
I'd dutifully display
whatever markings
come my way.
Reluctance and reverence
are tinted the same.
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