Hey there kids.
It’s been a whirlwind on my end of things the last few weeks and I’m trying to catch my brain up to my heart in a lot of respects. So this one feels…tepid. Like unsatisfying tap water…too warm to be refreshing, too cold to be comforting.
We all have our days.
Missfit
She doesn’t go
In the lines they drew,
She slithers out
Spills over edge.
She doesn’t fit
In labeled boxes and
Carefully thought out plans
She escapes over walls
And flies the coop
She doesn’t match the furniture
Or compliment the wall paper
She doesn’t shrink to fit the space
Or diminish into corners.
She is not refined in fixture
Not the gray of peripheral
She is ill-placed and jarring
Color splashed on white walls
She lacks pattern and structure.
She misfits this world,
Careens past the bullseye,
To shoot wild
Flies across the sky
In dodging weaving trails
Floating butterfly
Stinging bee
She is uncontained
And worrisome.