There's this thing with the texture of jelly
For years it shrank from harsh words
And ran back from misguided excursions
To the safety of the dark

But shame passes with years
And I wonder, can I
Let it wobble into the light
And tumble round as it shapes and sets
Hold myself in my own clear sight

02/22/2010

Author's Note: Oh a rhyme!

Posted on 02/22/2010
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