Back To Basics Poem by Matisse WalkdenBrown

rejection, despite the gore of all the war, is the deep deep red in the sore, in the cuts, of the blood.
It's the middle of the pain.
Being glanced over, looked through, passed by.
Not to mention the worst of the curse.
Actually being noticed.
Appriciated even.
delved, discovered,
ditched.
After all the insides have been judged, hammer has been knocked, Silence Silence in the court(ing) room, even the outsides, the smoothly shaven calves, emerald framed eyes, aren't worth a head turn.