But if I’m noticed, I’ll have to go.
If I’m spotted, they’ll cut me
put me in a vase
twist me beautiful
make me useful.
I’ll be conquered.
A prize.
Silent.
Stoic.
A symbol of supremacy
over those who wander well.
But maybe
in this quiet corner,
they will pass me by.
And I can sing here, soul in chest
swilling in the sun
and watch their languid little girls
twirling, having fun.
(J-me Odom)
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