Untouchable
I am a plastic toy that has long since faded,
worn through years of play.
Whose jaded tips speak of endless spinning
and long to stand still for just a day.
Each mark an improvement, each tumble a chance
to say I am me! to a world that acts surprised.
A desire to be impuslive, to shout and dance
to music that has a peculiar way of swaying telephone
poles like trees and makes daffodils appear upon every sneeze.
What must go up, must come down, yes we know it is known.
But what about that which begs, which says please
when it really wasn't asking permission.
Rules are the absence of trust in the right, and an assurance
that there will always be wrong. My mission,
as a spinning top, is to drain the ocean and reverse the currents
of compounded interest that have become too heavy to bear.
I have to make it light, so I can cast off all the fog, breathe fresh air
and have permission to be dull, unappealing, most dreadfully
apalling and unburdened by those cumbersome bricks called
doubt and the whispers. Curious whispers they are, to be
cannibalistic thoughts that multiply and lay eggs for the sake
of eating away the joy in every stolen breath we take.