Fine

My skin is taking your form.

It adjusts to every edge.

The vessels are blue and scorned,

Feet hanging over the ledge.

What did I expect, truly?

Your words launch like rockets.

And your tongue is unruly,

Asking me to empty the pockets.

But you never seem to mind

When I put my life on the line.

You curse out my breed and kind,

Rotting everything that is ripe.

(Still, I tell them it is fine.)

-JW