The butt of all jokes

If you think of me like that
Then I must be
The thing you’re projecting in your head
But you shared it to me vaguely
As if you forgot to paint the animal you drew
Without a head or tail.
I see a body
But I don’t know what to make of your masterpiece.

An obscure image of a concept
With no viable verbal definition to give
Like being awestruck by a bullet to the head
A painless death.

Maybe to you that is me
The me I have become
The I, should I recognize
Is one I have not met
The person in your head…

He looks more like an imposter
One you’ve made up to inhabit the pages of
Your lawyered arguments
That colors your well constructed
Philosophical reasonings
With a sage like references to give me some sense
Of appeasement.

You are butterscotch
With dabs of insidious.
If you think of me like that
Then I must be
The thing you’re projecting in your head.

But then I’ll just take what I see as true
Not everything laden with what I feel as
Your sultry deceiving lips
The kiss of death.

I’ll play along with your jester and jokes
Because in the end
You’ll know that
The joke is not on me but you.

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3 thoughts on “The butt of all jokes

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