"stapes" poems
My body is rusted,
Taped, but the tape has lost it's stick
Glued, but it peels more off me off then ever before
Stapled, but they bend off
Burned, but the burn marks tear away
Stitched, and they rip from my body
But maybe you'd be my sticky tape
And my super glue
Along with my strong stapes
You'd be my indestructible staples and stitches
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 9:41 PM UTC
My life has become breadcrumbs, little pieces broken off
scattered in the dark. They get stepped on; they get
lost. They get gobbled up by mangy pigeons, not the least bit happy to leave me a smidgen. It’s not as if I want much,
a little chunk to call my own. Here, take the carcass. But leave
a bone. I’m a tendril, stirrup-shaped stapes. You can’t see me. I’m set in place, stuck as an oyster, hard to shuck, wasting time
lying in muck, kicked over, picked up and thrown down. I feel
smaller than a grain of sand. I am bluer than the bluest
ocean. Is it too much to want a little more? Am I’m I selfish
for not settling for scraps? I grow anxious watching time
lapse. I’m useless as a dried tea bag that’s discarded in the
trash. I’m picked over as the bargain bin. No one knows my anguish or suffering. I grew up a sliver, so I stick in people
as a splinter, until the pain’s unbearable. If you wanted to measure my worth it’d be negligible, except for my hurt.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 6:43 AM UTC