Serenity & Sanity

normality is soft.

the words from the page bounce from my lips and 

fall flat on the surface of my desk. 

it's grey,

like the mismatched rocks that line the 

Gloucester shore and are tattooed with 

the footprints of toddlers with brains 

that are made of spools of blooming 

syllables. 

normality is plain.

it's two dots, three inches apart 

and three inches down, there's an 

arc that curls up at the edges. 

if you're feeling rebellious, 

erase the two dots, and replace them

with exes. 

watch it spin, and let the aimless 

screams of angry half-blossomed 

adolescents fill the dimmed porcelain 

cabin, the one at the back of your head. 

normality is obsolete. 

so take your unadorned, opaque pelt

and watch it disintegrate to the pulsing 

amplified beat of your teen spirit.