I’ve tried to encapsulate

In any way good enough for you

The fat pimple

I grew on a smooth sea of sweat

But I still cannot provide

Proper justification for myself

As to why I marched up

To the tattoo artist on East 18th street

And asked for double-knotted shoelaces

Just above my elbow

When the ink was overdone

The swelling began

And I became a large balloon

Afloat in the air

Rich in its affluents

But slightly low in oxygen

I was ridden to my bed

For years passing in seconds

Until I wrapped myself up

Put on my brown boots

And stepped outside to meet you