on the edge
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by Michelle Faulkner



You think this is quaint, a case of the blues

A handkerchief for a dainty cheek

But I want to howl, I want to shriek

I want to tear the world in two


As you safely stand

In your well-dressed land

Handing out ornate soliloquies

Like pennies

yet neglecting to understand

The poverty of agony


While my dark demeanor

is dismissed

I will burn buildings

If you insist


On painting glitter

over rage

On labeling my pain

a phase


An inconvenient rite, a blight

On your ladylike

well-mannered path

My wrists bleeding

As you correct my math



My words are not petty, not obscene

I am not a robot, not a machine


To defuse, deprogram or debug

Or merely lock away and shrug


In your placid belief

that compliance is peace

What is prison for

If not release?



a line, (a blue one)


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