My glassy nature is inherently perfect
and always will be perfect, but, sporadically,
impetuous hands touch me, dust clings to me,
globs and splotches track me down,
and cracks form on me.
I am perfect in temperament,
but flawed when I am forced to engage
in a relationship with a foreign particle
or object.
Lamentably, I can't avoid such relationships.
They come at me from both sides, from within
and without.
The denizens of the within and without see me as
a "meeting place" for their secret gatherings.
Children see me as a glassy canvas for their
greasy, roaming fingers of bacteria
and mud.
Birds intermittently fly into
me and commit unintentional suicide.
Arrgghh! I can say no more.
I no longer wish to talk about the
unspeakable horrors that have brushed
up against me and soiled my sheen.
However, I will talk about my therapist:
Ms. Calm River Water.
She understands me.
She listens to me, and is self-reflective
like me.
And I think she likes me.
Oh boy...I hope she likes me.
Oh boy...I hope she understands me.
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