Her Fake Knees
Her Fake Knees religion stories
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ryanciereric
ryanciereric Fantasy, poetry, and fantastical poetry!
Autoplay OFF   •   4 months ago
An upset but dawdling poem.

Her Fake Knees

The cooked meat

comes apart at the seams,

for it's our "first date" --

the foreshadowing,

where I put MY "shadow"

behind me, yes, I put

my "best foot" forward.

-- Is it the right one?

I'm pretty well balanced on both,

if I do say so myself,

but you- You didn't ask,

and Richmond- Richmond is home

to pretty faces. Lifestyles adorned

with stripclubs, IPAs, and sports.

I thought I could learn to love

the native streets I passed

by... on my way to greener seas.

She seemed fresh, new, and

like a front porch's floodlight

against the world's calamity.

She's art, Etsy, beauty, earrings --

blonde a shade of cheese

I've never quite seen

illustrated and transformed

into that of a compact "Bitmoji" --

but she's faker, lighter, and more one-dimensional

than the pages of that bible

which she reads at night before going to sleep.

In my dreams, I yell at God,

confusedly, but also in my own senses

which, to the masses,

are best left unknown.

Sure, she can light a candle,

but I wonder what Peter and Samuel

would think about such a cardboard cutout

crumpling its knees

in their pews.

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