| nationalism 9 a moth: a flittering white thing, is me. thru days where i wished for a better waredrobe. wearing my smile isn't enough anymore. i drank too much coffee & my words come out in spills. billing the silence with better recognition, because we would like to know more than we think we know we would like to think we knew everything. we swear we wrote in down somewhere. perhaps on a napkin. we just have to find it, before laundry destroys it. frantically searching thru pockets of our wished waredrobe because smiles aren't enough anymore and we are the poorer without them... |