orthodox

words fill the air
but mine feel the
cold empty spaces
with warmth behind
my stare, from which
you can read the
atmosphere and know
that i attempt to care
and i’m not unaware
or slinking around
like a black cat,
dipping in and out of
shadows, refusing to
go to places where
other people gather
to slow down time,
chatter about
this and that –
i don’t need a flower bed
full of other flowers
to grow, i can wear a crown
as well, and touch the
sun as it wells up into
the blue skies, i have
never blinked, watched,
looked or talked in an
orthodox manner
i choose to walk
my words through
the scenery instead
of letting them
fly up higher than they
should, because
the worst words are
out-of-touch words
which haven’t been
stared at long enough,
inspected long enough,
cast out to be
misunderstood
__
written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: traditional

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