is it prettier on the other side?
does the grass seem greener
even though it sprouts from
the same exact shit that fries your mind?
what if I told you
that I have the perfect childhood
and nothing sick to haunt my mind?
would anyone truly believe that
when they're too busy telling a tale
of all their horrifying, terrifying lives?
I learned how to sing badly,
walk crooked, trip over almost everything,
laugh at the worst possible times
cry for no reason but to be depressed,
dance like a dork to anything with guitar
and how to be lazy, procrastinate
always lose everything…including my mind
I may only have the stems to flowers
in that beautiful ceramic base
but I can take them out any time I like,
maybe write my name with them
or throw the things into the wind
and daydream about some skinny green stalk
giving some poor sleeping cub in Africa
the scare of his life, before settling down again.
or maybe he's in the zoo,
cages always did clear life up
divided into spaces between bars
maybe I want to be in a cage,
that's something people always stare at
maybe if I cut myself enough,
bleed enough,
write it out on the floor
people will understand my so called
"weirdness"
I can eat ice cream with a fork,
it tastes just the same, just as sweet
even on the fence between two lawns
and a nice metal post stuck up my ass.