Lethargic Limbs

I'm thankful that arms are attached to shoulders, my gut would throw whatever is in reach if it could grasp, the true conflict  is that hands' selfishness has left shoulders to do all of the heavy lifting, and then I'm saddened that these plates were born without a tongue. 

There is a colonie of women out there for me, we are the scattered kind. Walking alone, but always united as one.

I die
material to be slipped (in)
over the body, manipulated,
draped, casting a shadow:

A punching bag. An honest Ape.
I die friendships that never were for
A tightly woven assault of cast offs
And unfriendly whispers, pretty colors,
and I never hide my stained hands.

Lackluster,

Being misunderstood makes me boil to the point where I am sitting next to the opponent, pointing fingers at myself, ready to throw rocks at this person standing before us. I still reside in this body, and after the stones hit the ground, I find bruises I inflicted.