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I’m Tired, But Just

I’m tired of living in square dwellings
Full of shadows
When they should be round
And full of light

I’m tired
Of not having a garden
And of being told what to grow in it
When I do

I’m tired of looking at this
Abysmally unattractive clothing
You all insist on wearing
Where are the sparkling robes
The furs, the leather

I’m tired of wearing clothing
In midsummer at all
Who invented that

I’m tired of being made to
Show my papers
Everywhere I go

I’m tired of the fear
In the eyes of my fellow man
Every time I let out a laugh in public

I’m tired of the fear
In the eyes of my fellow man
Every time I voice
An honest opinion

I’m tired of the fear
In the eyes
Of my
Fellowman

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Ana Daksina View All →

A poet is the strangest sort of soul
You in this life may e'er expect to meet
More broken even while more truly whole,
Innocently intending well, more sweet

Than any but a five year old should be
Unfit to meet a callused world's demand
Or to behave aught expediently
All grace in flight; an albatross on land

Do not the all too common error make
Do not fall into the too easy trap
Avoid the fatal egoic mistake
Imagining that poet be a sap

Powerful spirits classic and antique
Give voice when poets ope their mouths to speak

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