There is spinach between your incisors.

Everyone tells me they can see it
but I can’t open my eyes any wider
maybe I could if when I was five
the one that birthed me was a little kinder.
I don’t know how you love so freely
without fear of tripping on wires,
you will find me in the woods where the trees grow thick
dancing with raw toes, setting tiny fires.
A select group live life painfully aware
of the way eyes close for less than a second
or five, they are the gently furious few
that worry themselves into a wreck and
do you know what I mean,
watch me sing my lungs sick
through a crack in the kitchen door
the clock stops, morning halts its tick.
When you suffer for morality,
for this world, play our part,
you save yourself the agony
of a paint by numbers heart.
Be brave, be you, be more than what
you were told you couldn’t.
Break the hand that stops you,
so sure that you wouldn’t.

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