Obvious Differences Poem by Pedro Tejada

Obvious Differences



I am one of the modest folk mote,
walking lethargically in curvy circles,
shuffling my feet in a small English town,
pulling the charcoal wool over my bloodshot eyes.

And the difference between us is
I'd much rather keep it that way.
There's no point in fighting today.

I am a fashionable mannequin
with a limp wrist and a lazy hip,
lithping all my thtereotypth
for the unisex scientists to hear.

And the difference between us is
I'm high on life and sleeping pills.
My stability is Fed-Ex'd and I'm sitting still.

I am a starving artist.
My white knuckles show just how strongly these knockdowns can pull.
Even rolling thunder cannot knock down the establishment
of transparency and an elephant's memory.

The difference between us is:
you see the point in the stiff upper lip.
It's hard enough for me to maintain this grip.

And I'd much rather keep it that way.
There's no point in fighting today.

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