I am not the delicate petals
Nor am I the thorns
It's amazing don't you think
That you don't have to drive or drink
To test your mettle skill and soul
You just need one big round pothole
Whether I try to or not,
Out my heart to her -
Because she keeps
Puncturing it! >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
With her honey-sweet words.
Umm, she triggers these things in me and I find myself telling her stuff I wouldn't tell anyone.
-just being honest
It’s ridiculous that we,
are all caught in this common web of familiarity.
All of us are bonded in the sticky strands,
we spin as we shake hands,
unaware of the thread negligently,
puncturing both of our thumbs.
And to fear it,
or even acknowledge it,
is to Strengthen it and,
weaken all relations.
It must be named and known,
but kept in the back of the brain,
where the reptiles and the skeletons live.
So I did my ankle in on Friday.
Thought I'd see how I was to drive by nipping to work and back.
Ok. So far so good.
The tyre pops.
But I get there.
Ok - it's cool - change the tyre:
Spare wheel? Check
Security socket? Check
Tyre iron? No.
Now stranded outside work with a buggered ankle, a popped tyre and without a very important tool to change the wheel.
And for some reason nobody else seems to keep that vital piece of equipment in their boot either.
As Lady Luck would have it (in her mysterious way), a chance encounter ended with a lift home.
I will return tomorrow fully prepared.
With luck I won't get a ticket sitting on a double yellow all night.
Dear Lady Luck,
Make up your mind.
— The End —