There ain't a single **** star that feels me.

Neither do the toucans and hummingbirds,
This picture's worth a hundred words.
My pitcher was a funnel first;

If it was half-empty,
I'd be somersaulting,
shook and stirred

High off life
Instead of hiding my face from the sky,
A little birdie tells me, "it won't be alright."

I change the covers of these books,
'Cause that's as far as you'll look
But I'll write in invisible ink just in case.

Then laugh
about how I've managed to paint and erase
Simultaneously

The only one who I amaze is me.

One-hundred.

Lately,

I've come to grips with the consequence
Of being a deeply closeted optimist;
My outer self is the opposite:


The birds jeer me
For the wind steers me,

Knocks me down with a flick;

At least the flowers are pretty.

I'll die before my momma tells me:

"Man up"

I couldn't bear to split the humble pie,
Now these hopeful waters run me dry
It's so hard just to try

I couldn't bear to share my cross with you
I'm sure you have your crosses too,
And I need one of us to make it

Two's a team,
Three's a crowd,
Me, myself, and I
can't figure out
Who gon' walk the plank
We flip a coin,
It's flyin' off the boat,

We jump after it.