What is it you tried to lay on me 

I can’t quite see it clear, true edges blurred 

Pushing or patting squeezing corners into a round 

Sweet circle of blandness 

From edgy and different with sharp contrast to the rest 

Push those corners they don’t fit 

They are the things that make me different from you 

So they were sucked inside 

From jutting angles of……   
To something resembling an orange round at last 

But the corners are inside and I look crushed 

Wizened and bleached after being in the sun 

I hid in the dark buried it all 

Juices and blood flowing again in this crumpled skin 

And the segments pop with excited surprise 

At last they sing 

We can be as we should have been 

Not pushed down stuffed away to be acceptable

Like a hive of bees they buzz alive again 

Taking their own skin over and the orange peel shall thin 

To let the glorious flesh forth 

In all it’s difficult difference 

It’s corners back glistening  with stardust  

And an audible sigh ahhhhh 

As the square no longer forces itself to fit 

I have been freed 

Please note I can find no reference for the picture if you know who it belongs to please let me know so I can credit them


Author: ailsacawley

I have written since I can remember, devouring the stories of Roald Dahl under the covers by torchlight. I have always loved fairy tales, myths and magic. A good deal of the things I write has some truth in it. Others, not. I’m pleased you dropped by, please feel free to leave me a comment or if you’re kind enough to share that’s fine. ☺️

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