On Days When I'm Praised
On Days When I'm Praised
On days when I am praised for my writing
on internet by random strangers,
I wince as if hit on the head
by a sharp ended scale,
Because I know what is going to come next:
You are cute,
You are beautiful,
You are beauty with brains,
You are this, you are that,
I could supply you with sappier, cheesier lines,
But I am not in the mood.
I am never in that mood.
I don’t want to be seen,
I don’t want to be heard even.
All I want is to be read,
Over and over and over again.
I want to be hidden under pillows,
That are too wet, and taste like salt.
I want to be marked,
With red, black, green;
Whichever colour marker you please.
I want to be put on dorm room walls,
With people smiling and sighing as they go by.