Some days I feel so disheveled, bedeviled,
ineligible and unintelligible.
I feel coarse, like my blood
were peppered with sand,
more bloody, grating,
abrading and degrading than necessary.
It makes me wary, on edge,
precipice precious like a man on a ledge.
Contentious and conscious of every little thing,
every bite, scratch and sting, and petty injustice.
While all that disgusts us, is bludgeoned in
again and again, without relent.
But some days, some days I feel content