Abstractions Poem by francesca zumbo

I don’t do well with exacts and things like that
I don’t even do well with describing
I’m only in it for the abstract
That which we cannot distinguish
But question, always only questioning
You might not like my sense of freedom
But I don’t like your tunnels either
And I can’t travel in between specifics
My hips are too wide, and you don’t like that
I’m no model friend or daughter
Although they would lead you to believe I am
Just let me know how you’re doing tomorrow
When you look into the mirror
The one that stands directly in front of your eyes
But still behind your forehead
And then maybe you’ll have the right
To tell me weather I’m right or wrong
When you conquer your own self-delusion