You are the bees knees or like moths on the breeze,
Like a pretty hurricane caused by a butterfly's sneeze.
You are the dew on the tips of a daffodils hips,
Sweet small drips resting on caterpillar lips.
You are lush like moss and nearly twice as soft,
As mysterious as the gusts that keep samaras aloft.
You are all the best things that this spring will bring,
but if you think this sappy, then *******, you stink.
Superior consciousness, meat suit
When will we stop pretending we're interesting,
when we're just like everyone else?
We spend so much time inside of our own minds,
trying hard just to be ourselves.
When we're not all that beautiful and we're not all that sharp,
We're not ******* special, we're barely a spark,
Yet we burn all our bridges to try and go our own way,
But the fact that we're nothing is what makes us the same.
What if all that was offered to you was spat from your tongue?
Would it make any difference when it's all said and done?
I believe it wouldn't matter if it all washed away,
Because when the flood water rises we all drown the same.
Well if nothing is sacred then nothing's disgraced,
And nothing is important in matters of faith,
It all just feeds the ego and is all to save face,
Either boxes or ashes we all end the same.
I wish we could stop pretending we're interesting,
when we are just like everyone else.
There's so much history beneath our feet, these floorboards rippling, whispering scenes.
Each wavy window is a spying eye which humbly boasts of the ghosts inside.
These walls do talk with each settling groan with the memory of all that have called this home.
Though it is our time now to haunt this space and lay claim to ours in this crooked place.
Someday we too will be just a name on the deed, just a faint feeling seeping from the seams.
For now though, let us honor these wooden bones and add to the memories of this place we call home.
I want to lose my mind and have my sides split and crack with laughter. Grow my smile lines and go giggling to the here after. To be that batshit lunatic with contagious savage laughing fits. To thrive in hysterics, lose my marbles and half my wits.. I want to dress loud, double down and even learn to juggle. Be the clown that jokes around and gets you in and out of trouble. A jovial spirit creating extravagant jubilant debacles... Laugh my way to the grave and dance insane among the crumbling rubble.
I wonder if the butterfly
is jealous of the bumblebee's sting,
or is the bumblebee envious
of the butterflies wing..
Though should it use it's stinger,
it will soon surely die,
and those wings all so beautiful,
are near too fragile to fly.
Troubled is the heaviness still brewing from the feud,
As you chew upon the bitterness that our fathers have fed you,
Bent and burdened shoulders cannot accept embrace,
So I beg you, my beloved brothers, let me bear some weight.