Seabird

Seabird (30th May 2008, 2.23am)

You drop me on the floor of my pride
and watch me shatter with glee,
wings furled and useless, pen-free,
caged within the pixelated screen;
I would like to take the time
to rub my ego up against you,
as if decency did not matter
and anything I wrote would not offend you;
you take my words and you criticise,
chip away at the chips I wear,
carried on my shoulders like burdens,
excess to spare; you hand out like crumbs
your compliments to me, screeching
madly to the floor of my pride
on which you scatter them, hungry,
like a scrawny seabird scavenging,
lusting after the praise you hold out of reach,
scrabbling with my tired, raw beak
at any morsel left to find within the mess
that I fondly like to call my poetry.