After the gardens and before the marsh
Into the meadows and around the ponds
I tread around those flowers harsh
With Boasting petals and cursing little wands
“I should find myself in the daisy’s ruff”
I say, “or in the rose of blood, love and countless names”
Perhaps the gardenia’s creamy scent upon my gruff
Or the orchids bodily fatale will bring me fame
Eaten, plucked, or wilted, still with perfection they entice
But what of these skinless, spineless, sordid things
That suck my light and taunt my height
And so the wind in my soul did sing

deceitful delicacy thrusts onto the papers
Of puffed and brooding monarchs of word
Who proclaim beauty to be in the nature
Yet decree my nature to be absurd
Somewhere out there, over the rainbow, beyond the sea
flawless goodness glimmers
But what about the quality of me