And Here I Am, Exactly the Same

Every poet reads the same. Inflection
as nicotine gum droning,
stretched too long, too far
to work
anymore.
I am wise, it says.
I am seasoned.
I can see the world
for what it really is.
I am an individual but have received
my invitation
to this private
party.

MY words
have
WORTH.

My words
have
worth?

My words
HAVE
worth.

There is the girl

with heavy boots
and an oversized
necklace of bone
and shell.

There is the girl

with a ring
of black
eyeliner
and a bun
of bleached
blonde
hair.

There is the girl

with perfectly buffed
(not painted)
finger nails.

There is the boy
with an Amish beard
of pubic hair.

There is the boy

in pajamas.

There is the boy

with dreadlocks
who stinks.


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