ometimes I’m bitter like my favorite beer,
my expression so hard you could knock on it like
that’s what my favorite wine tastes like,
is dark sometimes like the innards of my brain.
A genuine expression of myself and my brain would be ugly
because so much of me is sharp edges covered
in other people’s blood. I swear, I didn’t mean to
bite with my words.
I listen to silence when I’m upset, and sad songs
when I’m content, which is probably why my mother
says I always write sad things.
I can never seem to write anything good when I’m happy
which probably says something about my true self
that I’m trying to write a poem about.
Yesterday I felt one of those rare
genuine rushes of content, as I drove home
and sang I Want to Know What Love Is,
if there’s anything I’d use to describe myself
it would have to be an 80’s ballad.
Lista de imágenes:
1. Vuk Oreb, Pop Art