the tiger moth
what if you want to sail the sea when you're meant to live up a hill?
tight muscles covered by a rug lure me closer to the ditch mom dug
and yes, i know i should care but i find myself stuck in a shrug.
is this great oak not just a fickle joke,
like the truck that broke in a desert of smoke?
when i packed her lessons deep in it's trunk
and slashed the tires with a branch and a skunk?
how disarming is triumph supposed to be?
is it powerful enough to turn me into that tree?
will her lessons evaporate and push the damn truck
if i run away yelling, "i don't give a fuck"?
if your own blood can't see you or pushes you away
is it better to bleed it than fix it and stay?
when you know that you're wild and longing to roar
is it wrong to grow wings and live near a shore?
it is fascination that keeps me somber and still
and will that cleanses and aids me when ill,
and yet,
the things that are meant to keep me strong and dry
turn me into a striped moth singing a lullaby.
© Copyright Miss Carly Marie 2008-2012
