Well, it’s not like I’m about to tell you
that you’re a snow drift.
But I also refuse
to boomerang back your own adjectives
as though I cannot be bothered
to even open a thesaurus.
I see myself as paint-in-storm-drain harsh,
enough to damage,
stain any environment with garish
streaks of presence.
And maybe I’m a statue because
And maybe I’m so silent because
And maybe I keep trying
to seem scary
And maybe I am terrified.