Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Dysmorphic Whenever I see the word “noon” I sit and I stare at it. Logically, I know that it’s spelt right, But the perfect palindromous parallel Just looks wrong. Sometimes in band, I hear a sound And it’s just not right. Logically, I know that it’s fine, But the slight tremor torturing the technique Just sounds wrong. Sometimes I see myself in the mirror And I don’t recognize me. Logically, I know the body I see is me, But the soul inside is suffocatingly stifled, And I feel wrong.
0
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 10:34 AM UTC
Dysmorphic
Dysmorphic Whenever I see the word “noon” I sit and I stare at it. Logically, I know that it’s spelt right, But the perfect palindromous parallel Just looks wrong. Sometimes in band, I hear a sound And it’s just not right. Logically, I know that it’s fine, But the slight tremor torturing the technique Just sounds wrong. Sometimes I see myself in the mirror And I don’t recognize me. Logically, I know the body I see is me, But the soul inside is suffocatingly stifled, And I feel wrong.
AnonymousSpectacles
Written by
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 10:34 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem