the sun (inhibition)

by shira

With mindless inhibition
I'm speaking of the sun

I'll see it
And touch it, the sun
It's still cold outside
And I feel silly in my mittens
But it's worth it
To be burned
Scarred happy
I'll hang it above my friends
From all walks

And they will point and stare
Frostbitten fingers stuck at attention
Frozen visions they'd like to forget

Men put their hands in pockets
Women wrap their arms around ribs
It's not polite to point and stare
I'm proud to make them rude