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Milquetoast Utopia

Updated on December 4, 2016
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Although it is difficult to dub myself "poet," I only know that I love to create poetry.

Did you grow up in a padded room?

Where nothing could hurt you,

and now graduated

from beneath your parents' wings,

finally out of your mother's armpit

you find that people have sticks

and worse than sticks - words!

Words that break you bones

Words that curdle the milk in your mouth

Words that chase you! chase you! to the dean's door,

igniting a Facebook flare.

"Defend me and my wax ears!

"and my anemic skin!

"and my glass bones!"


Make the world a padded room

in your favorite color - white,

where sticks and stones crumble like scones

and words are never spoken.

© 2016 Emily

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