Feathered Arms

Compliments stick to me like post-it notes

On my skin. And even when

The handwriting’s faded

The corners have curled

Sentiment’s gone

People have changed –

Still I waft and flutter my

Bird-like man-made pastel-coloured feathered arms

Trying to shake them off

Clean them, pull them.

But my Brain city exudes the strongest of glue

And flap as I may, still firmly they stay.

But I saw one come off yesterday.

It peeled from my skin, painless

And did a floating waltz to the ground.

I couldn’t tell you what it once said, or

How I once felt when it was said

Because stubborn Brain

Try as you will, you cannot

Keep every receipt in your crammed till.

So I’ll stop flapping for now –

I was not born a bird –

And softly know

I’ll see more and more fall under the

Strength of time.

And god knows Brain,

If you want to speed it up,

Dust, mop, purge, we are due a spring clean.