Refusing To Shine

If I refused to shine would your determined polishing work anyway?
If I twist and squirm from under your thumb
will the rags and wax still buff me to that New Car Glow?
Would that touch of class you keep hanging on me like medals 
stolen from a real warrior
lose their brightness, 
dulling like my eyes,
 and will the ribbons fray
because I keep rubbing against the brick wall
trying to slough this borrowed skin off.
I plugged my ears and only allowed myself the barest tic of a nod while interviewers chirped
and your doomsday grin never wavered
even as your eversolicitous hand guiding my arm so sweetly
pinched down hard.
and all I can think of is empty skies
where no other birds can clutch at your feathers
and the wind pays you no mind.
Smile Wave Agree Smile Smile Smile…
The mills grind so fast that the wheels burn out
 and the water steams away and people disappear into a cloud of chaff,
and the glossy screaming posters would have us believing that it all tastes the same…
but bread is not meant to be seasoned with blood and 
my face should not be contraband
not another notch joining the sawtooth mountain skyline 
highlighted against the backdrop of your reputation.
If I refused to shine will my light still be enough to steer by?
To thread through crowded rooms of dark mirrors
where mannequins serve up tomorrows memes with a wink and a smile
and viral is the infection it is acceptable to catch.
If your grip on my arm cannot be bought
flattered off,
there only remains the knife.
Wave goodbye….

About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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One Response to Refusing To Shine

  1. Pingback: Refusing To Shine | Nation of Poetry (Read All About It - Extra Extra)

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