Pretend you are normal
Act like you are okay
Pretend this is just
An ordinary day

Pretend that you are happy
Act like you do not mind
Pretend this will not happen
Some other time

Pretend you will get through this
Act like you do not care
Pretend it isn't words
They want your soul to share

Pretend you do not hurt
Act like nothing is real
Pretend until the emotions
You fake become real

⏳ ⏳ ⏳ ⏳ ⏳ ⏳ ⏳ ⏳ ⏳
You cram walnuts up your **** & blame me for a poor coffee crop,
then you speed across railroad crossings after ***** beg you to stop

“They don't call me the Talking Wrench for nothing,” said the talking wrench that liked to talk a lot about being called a talking wrench.

☕ Women don't want to work on high-voltage power lines or dig ditches. They want to work indoors all day and complain.

I was ordering waffles at Denny's when a mountain lion broke free, and ate our waitress. I changed my order to pancakes. Even though the manager of Denny's was very nice, my orders said that he had to die.

I almost forgot
I got monsters living in my head

I had not talked to them

Have they gone to sleep?
They disturb me in my dreams
I wake up with a corrupt feel

They're heavy clouds
raining down so stubbornly
drowning in my own bedroom

----

The monsters in my head
are asleep
during the day
they kiss me to sleep
**** me during my dreams

I cannot say I don't miss you  
in hushed tones of violet  
I cannot say I don't miss your  
rapid hands that wrapped  
around my fragile neck  
I cannot say I don't miss  
Your yellow mark bruises  
That washed against my skin
I cannot say I don't miss the  
violence that escaped your mouth
and found your way to your fists  
that brushed against my skin
on my legs, on my arms
on my face it found its place
Everywhere on my fragile body
that consisted of the words  
“she belongs to me”
I do not miss the hits that  
found their way to my once  
Unscratched face  
but somehow, I let you into  
my fragile life and you made  
a bruise out of me

I'm pretty sure all poetry has left me.
As if it just packed up and hit the road.
Like my words no longer dance or sing.
Like they have forgotten all melodies.
Assimilated tone deafness.
Compound letdowns retract vulnerabilities.
Brick walls and leather skin replace possibilities.
Reckless love and whimsical fantasies,
Replaced by ***** diapers and piles of laundry.
Consonants and vowels blend to mush.
Aches and accomplishments are one in the same.
All of my agony has turned to apathy,
And I wonder.
How could I let poetry walk away from me?
How have I become so broken that I can no longer write?
Words have no ability to woe me.
Vocabulary is no longer my saving grace.
Void of creativity.
Like somehow life has gotten too messy for me to express.
Series of catastrophes and celebrations run together.
And I feel lost.
And I feel blessed.
But oh so empty.
Poetry come back to me.