I think I have flat feet 

and a glucose deficiency 

my hair’s too damn big 

and my nose is too damn flat 

my skins an odd color 

like olives left in the sun 

my words are sharp 

but I can’t help but mutter 

I’ve been told I’m too fucking 

loud 

I curse too much 

but at least I’m self aware 

mothers raised you to think 

that I’m a problem 

that I’ll drag you down 

to my good time level 

but the truth is you’re all bred 

sociopaths

and you don’t feel a thing 

you’re engineered to negotiate 

and you can’t barter my things 

I bet you wish you could nip/tuck me 

and blend ass into my thighs 

so you didn’t struggle to grip me 

and shake me between sighs

I see you 

I see you 

green eyes 

I know you’re envious 

of my pewter 

and my glass 

full cups 

I hope the taste of my spit lingers 

in your mouth and your sup 

can you hear me in the evening 

like an echo of a consciousness

you tried to stuff up? 

can you hear me in your wheels 

grinding pavement and muck? 

a spirit and a missed connection 

sometime last december 

I never did quite leave  your side. 

– sheila c.