Serenity & Sanity
normality is soft.
the words from the page bounce from my lips and
fall flat on the surface of my desk.
it's grey,
like the mismatched rocks that line the
Gloucester shore and are tattooed with
the footprints of toddlers with brains
that are made of spools of blooming
syllables.
normality is plain.
it's two dots, three inches apart
and three inches down, there's an
arc that curls up at the edges.
if you're feeling rebellious,
erase the two dots, and replace them
with exes.
watch it spin, and let the aimless
screams of angry half-blossomed
adolescents fill the dimmed porcelain
cabin, the one at the back of your head.
normality is obsolete.
so take your unadorned, opaque pelt
and watch it disintegrate to the pulsing
amplified beat of your teen spirit.