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Niches

Twelve years old, I battered
Cardboard boxes in my yard
And felt strong; relented
Only after my knuckles bled.
I relished the labels
Of my peculiarity.
Yesterday, magically saddened
By the too-loud refrain
Of inappropriate people.
We can't help our skulls.
Some things we know are settled.
But no one expects to bleed.
We seem too well-planned
To fall open like that.

Comments

Attention seeking is natural. The ending of this poem is beautiful.
Rax said…
i'd have to agree with the previous comment about the ending. and it hits us when we least expect it.
SquareTraveler said…
I removed the first two lines from this poem, because I think they eclipsed its intended meaning. It’s not really about attention seeking. It’s about the elusive sense of belonging.

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