Poetry,
I thought it would contain
Splinters of truth, or
At the very least
A mound of sawdust
To sift through,
Instead
You're getting a 2x4
Straight to the
Softest part of the skull

I'll locate the entry point
And
Penetrate the frontal lobe
Where memory and foresight
Simply
Coexist

Sharing these incantations
These fevered reveries
Is like disclosing your blood type
With a scourge of mosquito

Under examination
I twist and reshape
Like amoeba
On a slide
Under an
Evaluative eye

I do not wish to be seen
Yet
I crave for validation