Where I'm lingering

Where I'm lingering

I'm censoring for future judgment
and I'm failing to reach artistic merit.
I've lost the confidence I once held
to do it all and not think twice.

I'm gonna break you spirit
and build you back again
to the towering heights
you were and are.

I'm gonna say all the dirty things
and bless you all with all the nasty fucks
and clean clit and dirty panties
and suck cock and flail flicking fingerings.

I want a future.
I want to fit.
I want people to accept.
But know it's hard when I can be so brash.

I want enterprise
and business
without judgement
or scrutiny.

Does this meaning hiding?
Does this mean covering up?
Does this mean bandaid-ed blemishes
and rosy sweet gumdrop cheeks?


I'm striking balance with matches
and burning thoughts inferno
or perhaps inferior
depends on how you read the text.

But I'm shaking and scared of how I'm perceived.
I've taken some blows .
Fixation on image and the structure I've made
of an image that one could care less about I'm finding.

Grandmas out there, I'm not going to impress.
But I do as long as I keep my mouth shut.
So I'm sorry fags, and dykes, and hermaphrodite(ies),
and sufferers, and fakers, and passionate poetics.

I'm hiding.

I'm scared the sky is falling.

And I'm trapped in the shell again.

And trapped I'm finding a way out.

Seeing this dark predicament I'm in.

Sheldon.

Silverstein.

Where the sidewalk ends-
no one saw your adult works,
which read like beauty
and touch more than hearts-
but our heads,
and our other other heads,
that lay south of our belts-
where all out hands linger.

-Matthew Koutzun