Testy

I’ve been tested.
But, I stress to you, believe!
That in chasing a chance at manhood,
I clenched,
and couldn’t breathe.
I felt every bit as free,
as your average dad
believes a bottom bitch should be.
Or…
So it went, in my maple tree.
And what kind of waste of space am I,
to question thee?
See…
I’ve been through every bit of tough landscape,
and brutal fucking rape,
to now know,
the spaces where it’s safe to breathe.
Yet,
I shake at the thought of shaking trees.
Or,
even breaking well placed eggshells.
Evasive,
though they’re plainly safety nets.
Bets made
to get them through “too late” plate swells.
So… HAVE FAITH!
You know,
that shit scraped hastily
from unfinished dinner plates.
Placed away in patient trees…
Through hatred,
or, perhaps a vagrant blade’s reprieve…