poem 48

Plus sized raven eyes spied me from high above

the world clocks face.
i was cutting time in tune to rhyme crimes
left in the dirt of my underused youth.
i curled an ode into a fist and hurt myself
getting out of bed.
three commas harassed my prom queen dream scheme
until the seams split, revealing gleaming metal teeth.
grammar will always fuck you, that way.
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