All along.
The driver never questioned if the windshield was worthy of being clean or *****.
He just scrubbed the **** off and left the dirt water in the tub.
My mother once told me people **** in those.

I pick and pester my own peace.
“An invisible splinter!”
Far and wide, deep and thorough.
Darwanistic ableist? Elitist?
Doubtful. Few wise words from the ponytail with powder blue nails.
“I’m sorry!”
Written up, for the truth over the lie - always.
Nauseating; the perspective isn’t beyond me.

Perfect
Desired accessories were never necessities
Born as you were, are as you’re meant.

No recycling
Dump your garbage here

You’ll stumble, stutter
My gesture, you sat.
End with a bump

Strangers and Irish car bombs
Intervention, mortal if anything.

Louder than me
He sat in your seat
The pasta was better
Communication more clear
But I still want to puke all the time
I’m no better, wish I was
I actually am it just feels pointless and it’s easy
To cave

For me to be
Part of whatever that is
And have any chance at enjoying it
I have to change the make up of my brain.

Is there a kiosk for that at Sephora?

My Destiny?
The solution to my conflicts?
The polar of my deepest desire?

Poetically cruel.
Perfect for me.