Discomfort, Unrehearsed

my truths

scratch your surface

unsettling as nettles

woven through

silken scarves

despite laundering

airbrushing

ironing

they refuse to lie

flat

soft

convenient

conventional

my reality

braids cactus thorns

in cashmere

scores my skin

and yours

my authenticity

abrades

your narrative

grazes sensibilities

brier patch

among cultivated beds

you smell skunkweed

in my budding rose

 

4 thoughts on “Discomfort, Unrehearsed

  1. ‘My reality braids cactus thorns in cashmere.” Holy shit, am I jealous that I didn’t write that line. This whole poem is far above me and everyone. You’re on fire right now!

    Liked by 1 person

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