they're harsh
those chattering mouths that
eat my silence
chewing on lies they have formed with their own
salvia
about me
melded together
colors of blue bird feathers
glow opaquely in the sky
over the velvet
mountains I continously
look and long for
but they're harsh
those rash, bright eyes
that glare upon me
suspiciously staring into
me with their laser vision
piercing my serenity
a guitar rift streams
through the white-washed-walled room
with the big-bay-window and it
lulls my frustrated self
into a sweet simplicity of
treblocity
but behind the white door with the glass doorknob
they're harsh
those owl ears
that listen intently to
my thoughts that they
think they can hear
i mix my musky
potion together, fully
aware of the life
I'm brewing,
the sage of elegance
the lavender of love,
the ginger of individuality
they're harsh, though
those noses
that catch a whiff of
my aroma
assuming it's the weeds from
the underbelly of the earth
i hold my soul in my
hands, watching it
swell with my visions
of my future
it smiles
i smile
but they're harsh
those lingering fingers
groping to touch what I
am beholding
i shy away and
secretly laugh
with the knowledge that they can not
and the laugh
reminds me of giddy, gleeful children
which reminds me of
first grade
which reminds me of
the black and white checkered dress
which hints at
fresh girlhood
when I was young and naive
and did not know they would be
so
harsh
those senses
those damn senses
that think they know
my silence
