poem

 Small and InsecureI am small and insecureYet assert a certain feigned Savoir faire of the martyrDown to the last arrowIn his quiver Some of it is made of plasticJust touch me untilYou find the places I can ’t feel  Some of it is made of wood.As I get closer to the endI ’ll use it for kindling.Some is iron But in all the wrong placesJust makes me feel heavyI sink, but faster As for more precious metals I like to think I gave it all awayBut no, it ’s still stashed thereIn the locked room where I never go The rest is fleshThe rest is bone1/16/24

Source: Buckeye Surgeon - January 16, 2024 Category: Surgery Authors: Jeffrey Parks MD FACS Source Type: blogs