over the bottom you
f
a
l
l.
"that's why i have this bruise," you explain,
as you point to your eyes.
it must be difficult to have darkness surrounding your sight.
between the eyes you
rise.
"that doesn't mean i know everything," you say,
as you scratch a porcupine resting
upside-
down
on your chin.
by the wrinkles you
((hide)).
"i'm not that pretty," you cringe,
as you apply charcoal under your eyes.
your mom wasn't a raccoon, was she?
amongst the flaws you
dream.
"i'm-a-gunna talk good one day," you ponder,
and you get lost in the forest
where all your worst critics reside.
(c)2003 mai kozai
silence is also music. {1:48 AM}
the poet
mai sharona.
december 5, 1984.
davis, california.
a sucker for flowers.
