sometimes the funk grows in my back of my head
and I start to feel like the sum of my mind
isn't good enough for my brain
and that nothing can please this monster of judgement
that sleeps behind my eyes
sometimes the funk cakes my entire perspective
and I'm so disappointed in the human being
that unfortunately constitutes the father of these words
yet I keep eating raw deli turkey right out of the bag
like some extra protein will kick my ego into overtime
sometimes I turn the mirror on myself
and I compulsively search for blackheads on my forehead
and they're always there
and its nice to pop them
because its an immediate blemish I can banish
a flaw with a fix
and it never crosses my mind
that the oils my fingers paint with
will birth the next blackhead for me to obsess over
a fix with a flaw
sometimes the funk recedes into the shallow
and I can happily hold my breath underwater
without even realizing that the pressure and heat
will scare those blackheads off my face
and not leave any fertile soil in their wake
i've been trying to assign a name to the funk
to dispel the crooked heads and furrowed brows
and all I can think to name it is human
and there are four destinations that let human thrive
hungry, scared, alone, alive