Dirge of a Pariah

The self-invite is my faux pas of social law,

a line never crossed by any expense.

Coin toss of awareness flips in my eyes;

the outcast’s scent is home in my nose.

I know these handled ropes, my presence

can please more in rationed doses. A diet of

neglected faces, stale texts, and dazzled

profile pages feed my thinning desire for you.

Because somehow I’ve made your probation list,

no dished crime comes to mind besides the

ambivalence lacing my oxygen. It’s an easy excuse

put to quick use by the lack of calls.

Feels almost good to help friends by not showing up,

no disruption to those who lower the blinds

on my unsavory aura. Embrace this solitary dance,

each breath for now, past friendship trials won’t spare

my omission from your rhyme.

Shame on wasted sentiment, I’ll take no special treatment.

A dying shine in a magpie’s eye isn’t revived

by half-assed smeared polish.

Willonee Simone


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