Happy Holidays,
To you and yours!
It's funny how we
Just stay indoors,
To escape the fun
Of bug and cough.
It makes me wanna
Take the year off.
I didn't want to
Send you a check,
But I had the funds,
So here's the rest.
As a man of mail,
I gotta say,
You're doing a hell
Of a great job,
So, please hang in there;
The world needs more
Of that pure spirit.
Thanks!
I was very happy,
almost ecstatic,
on cloud nine
without a care
in the everlasting world,
and then,
tragically,
I saw you.
No, I don't want your scraps. Although I'm grateful for a lobster roll, I want it to be fresh. You're sick, so, no, I don't want your scraps.
I feel like you don't care enough to see me happy. On one hand, you tried, and I'm grateful. On the other hand, I don't want to settle for scraps.
Is it gardening
Homebrew
Coitus en masse
Reading
Dinner parties
Flirting
Dancing
Playing music
Cleaning
Writing
Creating
Firing all of the pistons?
I don't know
Why it is
I struggle
To ascertain
What makes my heart smile
Like
Significant difficulty
Shopping at Walgreens
For something that makes me happy
The worms
Give me acid reflux,
And the cranberries
Give me diarrhea.
My body's changing
I'm old-ish, and
I don't feel the same desires as before.
I struggle to find friends.
I'm lulled by the sirens of streaming.
I don't know what makes me happy anymore.
I bring smiles to people. Some frowns. Mostly grins though. Today, I dropped off a package to a lady who was parked in her driveway. She was wearing military fatigues. Green ones. Her name tag indicated "Air Force."
I dismounted my mail truck, and brought it to her, stating my usual, "Special delivery for the world-famous so-and-so!"
I saw the happiness from her eyes before I caught her wide smile. Her eyes were open, like mad saucers.
She said, "Oh, I've been waiting for this!"
I told her I was happy to deliver.
She said, "It's my espressoooooiioo! WHEEEEEEEE!"
I shit you not.
My first thought was, maybe I shouldn't deliver this one. Somebody had to cut her off.
But, I did, and moved on to capture this joyful moment.
I'm tired of hearing
"I'm sorry,"
And I'm tired of asking
"Can you...,"
because you never do
I can't rely on you
I don't want to live
Within the walls of silence
Where two souls never speak
But only sadly coexist.
Livid
Why do I have to ask for them to return my shit?
Why aren't they trying harder?
None of them care about how I feel.
They must think I'm some punk.
