I used to eat oatmeal.
I heard it was nutritious,
Good for the heart.

It tasted too bland.
I tried spicing it up,
Adding some sugar.

But oatmeal was boring.
I was too conservative,
Stuck in a routine.

I went out for breakfast.
I wanted something new,
To treat myself.

Today I ate cinnamon roll French toast.
It was hot, indulgent, rich,
More like a dessert.

But pastries for breakfast?
I can’t have that every day,
Just in moderation.

Well, why can’t I?
Couldn’t I find something to look forward to every morning?
Couldn’t I actually enjoy eating breakfast?

Is it responsible to indulge?
Is it exciting to be healthy?
Does it have to be one or the other?

I consulted my heart.
I couldn’t hear her advice,
My stomach was grumbling.

Always trying to please,
That's me.
Always on my knees,
That's me.
Praying to the God's,
That's me.
Fighting off the odds,
That's me.
But this time things are different,
Not me.
Just the way I like it.
That's me.
The real one anyway.

You better watch out
- You better not cry
You better not shout
- I'm telling you why

Satans spawns are coming to town

They're checking their list
- They're checking it twice;
Gonna find out who's naughty or nice

Satans spawns are coming to town

They see you when you're sleeping
- They know when you're awake
They know if you've been bad or good
- So be good for goodness sake!

O! You better watch out!
- You better not cry
- Better not shout
I'm telling you why

Satans spawns are coming to town



M.M ©2012

You were a close call
A swift brush with catastrophe
As we sat through the sets
Smiling at each other as we
Mouthed the words to our favorite songs
And you paid for my ticket.

Just a close call
As we snuck looks
Through the stacks of old
Dusty records
And you talked emphatically
About your favorites
And I listened admiring your voice

Closer still
Than our hands as we
Walked through the streets
Much more silent than
My internal battle on
Whether or not to hold your hand
(Much to my simultaneous relief and
Disappointment, I didn’t)

But I avoided disaster
Involving either embarrassment
And the torture of
rejection twice faced
Or the sheer finiteness
Of what could have been
(I’ve seen how that story
Has ended and I’ve
Destructed from less)