OUT OF LINE
I draw lines all day, lines so straight, you’d say I’m getting decent.

The line itself wants to wander,
free of rules and free to ponder.

Why not just use a ruler? Sometimes there isn’t one. Sometimes the lines bend, Sometimes they break, Sometimes the path is never quite straight.

I thought you were decent? What? You never met a hypocrite before?

I draw a line, then step over it.

My pen runs dry, just as the thought runs thin. With every fading stroke, I admit, I’m out of line.