Friday, August 14, 2015

Distant Discography

I gave myself to the world
on a silver platter.
I played myself to the world,
like a song, on repeat, with a melody discrete,
but words that mean: words that matter.

Then, I waited on needles and pins for an answer
to the musicality of myself;
the unkind world treated me
like a record on a shelf:
out of style; scuffed with indignity.

I played myself louder;
they played me less and more
until my own song was, even to me,
a burdensome bore.
I became, even to to me, distant discography.

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