This is the
ultimate snowjob.
Just like a stolen letter,
you see right through me.
Even I am blind to myself,
too obtuse for
even the intellectual's eyes.
I spied a sinner
but you see a saint;
even naked we are
still misunderstood.
A garage sale in these
neurons---
One person's trash is
another's coffee table.
I'm not able to see yours
but you can see mine
anytime.
And yes, it makes sense!
As much as the tilting of an axis,
as much as the budding
in spring.
Will it make it mean more
if I tell you that all of this
has passed, will it
cut deeper
if I tell you
that all of this is true?
Author notes
An old angry thing involving being misunderstood....
What do you think?
Comments
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Good write
Yes would it make a difference or if one is happy its best left alone
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It reads as though there is someone underneath the 'obtuse' exterior, who for some reason does not project a true reflection, perhaps out of a self-consciousness.
The writer of the poem is deeper than the person that she shows to the world, and perhaps prefers poetry as a means of communication. It can be hard to be in a world of appearances.
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This is amazing. I loved how you compared things. It made so much sense. I loved it.
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