How? You ask me so.
Well, it does lie between the days
so you have the rest
of the week to go.
Breakups happen on this dreaded day,
when your partner decides you're through.
When you're too hungover to care too much,
for last night you tried something new.
You can lose your job on a Wednesday,
after effort and commute and time.
You can be slapped together with a parking ticket
and forced to pay a fine.
You might lay in bed on this day,
wondering what's left to come.
You might want to hide in your covers
because you know you did something dumb.
I'll be real: I hate Wednesdays.
But why? You ask? I could've sworn...
Ah! Yes. I remember now.
T'was a Wednesday when
I was born.
Words are permanent.
I was once told
that I'm an
that's all I can think
when I get excited
(I was also once told
that I'm a
here I am
writing dumb poems
for my soul.)
I said no to drugs once.
I looked a bag of **** right in the face
and, like a loving but firm father,
I said, "No."
I was really high.
feels like static
at the end of a long day.
Or ice in your veins
when you want to run away.
when you've got **** to do.
and only comes
when you're alone
and it's just you.
Watch where you ******* aim, why don't'cha?
You can really hurt someone with that bow-and-arrow of yours!
bouquet (n.): a bundle of daisies to my office you had sent.
parfait (n.): your favorite dessert after a whole day with me you spent.
cabaret (n.): the lies you performed while I watched you, center-stage.
ricochet (v.): the hurt that backfired after I realized I'd been played.
just a disclaimer: this series of poems probably won't be based on my own experiences; they're just fun little stories.