we make our words so pretty we forget that the beauty comes from saying them for their meaning

I'll drink tea with my feelings,
make a pie with my sadness,
invite over joy for a drink,
spend time crying with anger.

I'll fall in a pile of leaves with surprise,
wrap shock up in the night,
tell pain to have a wonderful day,
help loneliness with the groceries.

I love my whole self.
I hope you do too.

i hate when songs explain me
better than my own **** poetry
as if i was written out like a plot
on some ****** old tv show that
use to air in the 50s
im thirty but im fifty but im
still a teen
leaning into the stereotypes of
misspelled "me's"
its too tiring to explain anymore
there isnt a thing to prove anymore
im just me and
dont know how to deal with me
anymore

COUGH COUGH! BLEGH!
I’ve come down with a case of “meh”,
I’ve got tremors and shakes
And “that’s due today??”
Nearly putting me into bedrest.

There’s so many things that need doing
And I truly cannot keep assuming
That I can avoid
The results of my choice—
I jumped in the ***, now I’m stewing.

Will this be my undoing?
One might have guessed
That I’ve quit and I’ve stopped
In an unending rest,
Am I still the best?
My grip, it is slipping:
Like an old, beat-up ragdoll
Whose threads won’t stop ripping.