Somehow, wherever I go I am odd to say the least.
The person deep inside of me comes out just like a beast.
My skin’s stripped off and all that’s left is a naked soul.
Am I a salad of putrid fruit all piled up in a bowl?
No one wants the me I am to enter in their eyes.
Quiet, muffled by my pain no one to hear my cries.
Ugly are the secrets held that no one cares to hear.
Broadened are the scars I bear as I retreat in fear.
Am I a pushy calf to suck away at people’s comfort?
Where do I run from who I am and what’s my last resort.
Marilyn S.