saying
a guilded cage would be too much
I say
a gilded, or possibly a silvered, corsette
slightly restrictive
my breath a little shorter
always a tiny pebble of guilt in my throat
being friendly
I feel like an euphemism
being familiar
oh, they might hate me
being distant
look at the tyrant
the broom shuffles and circles around my feet,
I am in the way
my idleness is a rock
around me, industrious waters work,
fuss, work
the rock feels a hollow nut
whom am I fooling?
Why do I exist?
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