I wish I was writing down what made me happy

Wish I had a story most critics would find too sappy

I wish I could drown in rainbow vomit

Sunshine out my ass, supersonic


I wish I had something to tell, something mundane

That would fit on a postcard, that’d be plain

A tale of how from the moment I woke up

It’s only ever been more than half full, my cup


I wish I could write a story too kitsch for Hollywood

The worst rom-com on earth, why not Bollywood

Dancing and singing and tears of joy

But wouldn’t it all just be a ploy?


To show you what the mirror cannot say

That it only ever wanted you to stay

To lie under the covers, yet so naked

Truths would be spoken, only half-baked


I can’t tell you any of this and you know why

It’s not because I have style or am too shy

It’s because this world rips me apart

A Jackson Pollock picture; at least I’m art

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