Serif

My dear husband read all of April's poems today (at my request) and he laughed heartily at the post last week about the hipsters at Plato's Closet. This gives me hope. Maybe someone else laughed at it too? You should all let me know if I'm hilarious or not. I mean, I think I am, but there's no accounting for taste. Just sayin'. You should say something. Anyways, here's your poem, or whatever.


Serif - April 10, 2013

Can you read me?
Just tethered to foundations
I believed were steadfast,
I am the fragment
scarcely
hang
ing
on.
But.
It's said I'm good to look at.
Easy on weathered eyes,
and I might be better
for your fluency
or your cognition or
something.
I just don't want you to
smooth me out.
I've gotten by just fine
and I'm proud of my
rough edges.
It's said I have an
old soul,
easy on people with bruises
because we're not much different
at the ends.
We go around with our defenses up
and our weapons raised high
but at least we don't
go un
seen.