slveszki

i took a breath, well, a sigh one might call it
and wheezed as my lungs struck their cords
im not an instrument you might play, with bony fingers, no
but i could play that tune if you wanted me to
im good at pretending, i could be good for you

so i plucked out each gray hair i found, and i picked
the ones off the back of my sweater
im tired, so tired of growing old
that i asked the doctor to cut away
the useless skin, like chicken breast
but with the softest of feathers.

and i turned my cheek to you one day
so you reintroduced your palm to it
and i grabbed your hand harder than you knew to
sayin' "you cant hurt me anymore"
and your stain glass glare didn't throw me
this time, you are my violin.