thank you,
thank you,
thank you,
you’re far too kind…
ahem…
february
was the longest month
of my life,
but then
i blinked twice
and september came,
felt like frank
on that novacane,
saw the void
and ain’t been the same,
happy days
but i’m still in pain,
i’m okay
but i’m not okay,
nightmares
of the paramount
VHS tape,
they still play
in my head
and they just
won’t escape,
begging for
my dysthymia
to give me a break.
put on a little weight
while everyone
around me
was shedding theirs,
impossible
not to compare,
standing in the mirror
and i just can’t help
but stare,
something’s always
just a bit off,
i’m stronger,
but somehow
i’m more fragile
as i’ve gotten older,
facing life
on my lonesome,
supposed to be
part of the “new adults,”
but i’m feeling more
like a child with
each passing year,
what the hell
am i even supposed
to be doing here?
my purpose
starts to get fuzzy,
and the words i write
just don’t come to me,
it’s always been
“write what you know”
so why do i write
about love the most?
never had it,
not once,
and i’ll never be
what one wants,
so i’ll jot it
like i always do,
keep the pen moving
tellin’ the same story,
how’d i ever
deserve this stage?
i don’t even feel
like a king,
put the crown down,
i don’t need the clout,
strip the ego now
while i scream it out.
the wanderer.
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