You didn’t.

I did.

We aren’t.

*

So now sway and tilt and droop,

I will not.

*

No more,

Lull, mum, quiet,

Little

sounds.

*

I’m going,

to the Be of things.

*

Big,

brazen,

beautifully bazaar.

*

No more

Twinkled eyes, prancing pain and panicked,  pleasing.

But barefoot and bold,

boomingly, blissful

un-bashful- beats!

*

Rhythms made foreign to an over-bending back.

Bent on pleasing,

Bent on appeasing.

Coddling?  I must be stronger

Truant? Any? No longer.

*

I’m going

beyond busted glass with bodaciously blue lips

Blemished with brawn as a  bombshell buxom

*

Comatose till shock did I part

What was once dull is now silver

and stingingly,

 sharp.

*

 And decidedly so,

as a Be,

is so much bigger,

than a frowning spine and passive tongue;

Traced,

by behemoth pain.

Released through hot and sweaty

legs and neck and fingers and veins.

All,

tied,

to the key of believing past a running brain and scattered eyes.

So then I must.

I’m moving,

To the Be of things.