Tucking away your joy;
caving in a hiding hole- pulling skin over
your head: Uncircumcised
Uncut grass, to the disguise of your hedges
you so desperately try to hide; despising such
a sight, to the heir of your generation’s likeness
of still fighting to feel alive

You won’t come outside;
you won’t live under the stars, to at least
stay a night- your commodity spent over what
you long for: Perfect body, a faithful soul

“Why are they laughing?”
no, that’s your insecurities making you
laugh out aloud, at yourself