Stoicism

You didn’t know a thing about Cézanne
You’re not even sure how to spell the name
And if I asked you for your two cents
You’d admit to having no change
And you’re that dumb jock in the shower room
Who lacked all proof of playing fair game

And if in the end you’re right
And I’m swimming in the current
And if in the end you’re wrong
Well I’m lucky I’m still buoyant
Cause not all bones like sinking stones
Rest upon the surface

And my thoughts became distorted
When you plugged them into questions
You said the mini strokes and antidotes
Dictated your life lessons
Cause the chalkboard of your self-content
Dusted my projections

You said the atoms in you brokenness
Made soft skin turn to scar
And that earth’s nasty entrails
Turned your stoicism rock hard
And that our very own existence
Depends on the dust between the stars

And our bittersweet bickering
Then started getting sour
And I’m the damsel in distress
Who would rather stay in her tower
Now the chances of my savior’s sight
Dwindles by the hour

But we were tombed
Wholly consumed

And the morticians not quite welcome in the room
So you were told
When you enrolled
In the cataclysm of a mother’s scold

So you left me on the bus stop curb
Gnawing at my damp soul