Like A Scar Poem by RIC BASTASA

do not say a word, i dare, what i have chosen is, too not easy.

but if i have chosen the easier one, of which you think, i can dance
there and sing with so many, or harvest the common fruits of roots,

i guess, i can speculate, or perhaps by now, must have come to the
conclusion, that i may not be spared with the common occurrences

of those who, by time have so mercilessly beheaded, stripped of meaning,...; i have my own mind, it was a radar deep down the sea,

and i have seen how the bigger ones devour the smaller ones of their kind,...it will not happen to me, and so i choose the color of the

commonly acceptances, and no one notices you as a different specie in
the market of ideas, and i adapted myself too well, and so i am treated just like a cotton,

not a nail, not a hammer, near a snail, slow, silent, meek, amenable,
52 years of being not being scarred, (but scared sometimes) but the masks are wooden,

i cannot play the games in the open field, the rain is too acidic to my skin,

i have a room, and it has a mouth that whispers its secrets to me.
and i promise it, i have no ears, and i have closed my mouth like

a scar.