With it and Hip

Some days, I am a birthday candle in a wind tunnel

Others, I am the wildfires started by gender reveals gone wrong

Sanity exists in an hourglass for me – the sands drop not of time but as a reminder that an invisible hand can shake the granules between sane and in-sane whenever. I stare like I’m playing a game of chicken, but really… I think some of that sand got into my eyes. I brush, futilely.

…Sorry, dear, I was miles away there.

I say it’s a poem because it is easier than trying to explain how painful it can be to try to find a mask that fits.

I’m a hermit crab using a bong for a shell, I suppose.

My kingdom, my kingdom, I tell you, I’ll trade it. For a time when just for once, the goddamn pieces just fucking fit.

What the fuck-a-fuck-a

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