Why* do they appear so mystified?
As if every little thing must be justified
Moved to fit inside their small box
And look away when their key couldn't unlock
What they aimed to achieve
Does it ever make you giggle
When people call you fickle
But they're the ones whose eyes are fixed
On an object not quite literally applicable,
Something regarded as abstract, typically unseen
You see: I am a metaphor
And people stare at me.

© Melissa Carlson 2015