Body Politic

I was once accused of choosing to be different

Because I preferred the gray in the ceiling of the world

Instead of the joyful blue.

But we do not appoint the electricity in our brain

Or the manner of blood as it rushes through our fingers

My eyes chose the gray with the green green grass

As easily as my lungs chose air.

As if oddness were a decision

I prefer the days where moving feels like swimming

Or a constant embrace from a stale warm breath

I hide from the moments by the shore in the sun

It’s my body, not me

If I only could luxuriate in the sun’s embrace

Or cheer with the blue and the green green grass

But my manner is not appointed by me

My nuclei have ordained it

Thus I must follow

The gray days with the chartreuse trees

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