Nobody is good, I see–
Too close to me,
too far from the sun.
The light of day is gone
from me, from them, from you.
And now I can’t love,
or even want to, because
every man with a beard is you.
Every bald man is your friend,
every loud step is a pounce,
and every corner I turn might hold you,
or something like you.
Maybe I’m no good either,
because I can’t imagine him, or you, or him
being anything but wrong, all wrong;
Every man wants to kill me.
I don’t want to stand big and tall,
I don’t want neck-sized hands.
I just want everyone to stop killing me,
so I can stop leading with masonry.
I want to be soft
and still left unharmed.
I wasn’t made to build walls–
I was made to walk through them,
to fall in love with locksmiths
who can defy my odd structures.
But nobody is good, I see.
You don’t pick locks,
you just break in,
and it’s not valiant,
it’s not even brave.
You’ve only made a mess of my home.