It’s an isolation thing

No one just wakes up and takes up

one has to work one’s way to the top,
I climbed up and took up origami.

crushed into the borders where the wallflowers grow
I ought to know how it feels to be left on the shelf.

but I woke up and broke out
spoke out
in cafe’s I spouted, shouted from
the rooftops
but it stops as it should
because we’re only as good as
the next conquest,
the rest is confetti.

In Canterbury
the priest is not concerned,
he is earmarked for history
I am marked for all time.

© 2020, John Smallshaw.