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Aug 24
I’m tired of my hands


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and my hands are tired of me,
the never ending pick up, put down choring,
without a end date lease or a by your leave,
if I never see a ***** dish or a poem unfinished,
my hands will be permanently attached
in one of them praying emojis

tired of my big mouth so wide,
saying **** notions like love you,
and love no more, so just shut it,
nobody’s somebody don’t care,
stick to whether the weather gonna change,
and if you’ll be sleeping in
the bed or the couch

tired of brain worrying,
brain farts polluting the atmosphere,
things I won’t do nothing about,
words gone to hell, climate change arguing,
poem titles that are body-less horsemen,
no useful good to no-body without
hands and feet and words in between

tired of my hands smacking my head,
and the headache that’s sure to follow,
tired of talking bout if it might rain someday,
man,
I am tired
in places I ain’t got no earthly reason,
and no words to say hey,
I’m tired of my hands
(and most everything)
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8-24-19 2:28pm
Written by
fearfulpoet  The South
(The South)   
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