Take this hand of cards
all the cliches that were
ever thrust upon us as kids,
force them down our throats to digest and
make us sick,
and like a cow chewing cud
we’ll learn a way to reswallow
in a way that didn’t taste quite as demented and distorted
as it did going down the first time.
We take this bull pen they call
and wrestle with it,
and with why it was placed before us,
and with the puppeteer controlling the show.
Who matched us up with this,
and thought we could win?
Fill me with confusion,
deliver blows to my head and watch,
watch me stumble
then take my blindfold off.
Let me see what played out in
the background, between the ink
forming letters forming words
known as lines,
give me those and watch me
bend, distort, fold them into themselves
until I’ve traced their patterns and know
every curve, every weakness
until I fly over life like Mario Cart with no bananas.
Not for what you’ve molded me into,
Not for what I was supposed to be, or to do
with this warped object you tell me is
but see me for my interpretation,
for my next move.
Because what you brand as life,
I call a coin toss.
Fling me in the air, my ridged edges summersaulting,
and I will fall,
but I’ll be damned
if I don’t gleam and spin while doing it.
I’ll disguise my fall as flight,
as a full house,
a ten second pin,
and I will have everything
where its supposed
But don’t read between the lines,
you’ll catch a left hook thundering along your jawline because I’m