Sometimes the only thing I can do is bend
Twist
My shape
Abandoned
For another
The full moon
or
A robyn winging through the trees
Mold my body like clay
Forming strange new limbs
That catch rain drops falling
From the rings of Saturn
Erecting deranged feats of mental architecture
An Escher painting cut from jagged stone
Trying to shield
From your residence in my mind
Taking tufts of my skin
To form a disguise
Hiding myself from your gaze
Sometimes the only thing I can do is change
–
But not this time
I will not lose myself to you
Will not shift my shape for your convenience
Your comfort
Your stupidity
I cannot be what you want me
I will not be
What you want me to become
A canvas for your crimes
A receptacle for your guilt
Mark me
I will kill you
Before you forget
My true
Self
A Trip to the "Morg" 