the nerve of them

When she passes I start to speak and
the butterflies make a break for it -

But with my silence
I can feel them organize,
little political protesters,

they mill about,
pretending not to exercise
their right to assemble,

in the shaded corners of my gut,
they loiter in tilted black berets,
ogling, preparing the revolution,

awaiting courage, speech,
a yawn beyond my control,
to help set free my heart.

the nerve of them

jjgmail

Joined January 2008

  • Artist
    Notes

Artist's Description

How I feel sometimes…like before I submit my work.

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