Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Stitched Up With Wrongs

My feet cannot move to their music
For there's barely any melody
It sounds mostly like repetitive
Tap, tap, tapping
My body is not rigid, but fluid
It dips melodically
Incapable of robotic
One, two, three-ing
My voice cracks and whispers
My lips speak of lust
Their's automatically responds
With what is just
My arms can't act out their charades
My logic can't perform their parody
It's mostly too rehearsed
One, two , three-acting
I cannot dance to their rhythm
Nor sing their worship songs
I was never made for this
I'm all stitched up with wrongs

By: Elizabeth Azpurua

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