Other people always bothered me anyways.
When I spoke wrong, which was often-
They would stare or take pictures of themselves
Because if I couldn’t speak like they could
They weren’t interested.
I found a solid gold iron pyrite in the ground
While I was taking a walk in the park.
When I extracted it;
I sat down and examined it
The glittering fool’s gold casted
Splatter across my face
Gilded with dirt.
I run the bath hot.
And when a spider drops in,
and I feel as if he were already on my skin
Swimming eight legs and hair and eight eyes
Swimming two legs and hair and two eyes
Two feet and one face curl in disgust
There’s nothing wrong with choosing space.
Gripping the fools gold tightly
Value is what you make of the glitter
Like a cloud in front of the moon or
Is it the moon behind the clouds
Is it the traffic killing you
Or you, being a part of the line
stretched across the stop-