we make our words so pretty we forget that the beauty comes from saying them for their meaning

I'll drink tea with my feelings,
make a pie with my sadness,
invite over joy for a drink,
spend time crying with anger.

I'll fall in a pile of leaves with surprise,
wrap shock up in the night,
tell pain to have a wonderful day,
help loneliness with the groceries.

I love my whole self.
I hope you do too.

i hate when songs explain me
better than my own **** poetry
as if i was written out like a plot
on some ****** old tv show that
use to air in the 50s
im thirty but im fifty but im
still a teen
leaning into the stereotypes of
misspelled "me's"
its too tiring to explain anymore
there isnt a thing to prove anymore
im just me and
dont know how to deal with me
anymore