My definition as numerical is a strange one
But heaven forbid I throw up my hands
Deny my present existence
Should I accept myself as foundation?
Nothing more
An uncomplicated mass
Simple being
Ask me why I sink to the ground
Crumple the paper in my fist
I’ll tell them slowly patronizingly
I am not 1/36
Ink does not flow through my veins but thick blood
Heaven forbid I should feel
Cuts on my skin from sharp clock hands
Heaven forbid I should ignore my manufactured stars
And create my own with words
Let my D stand for Degraded
Rather than Desperate
Let those who hate us define us
Let those who are strangers judge us
On the licks of our pens
God knows they try