bored bored bored
as fuck fuck fuck
bored bored bored
as fuck
fuck that
insanity from isolation
isolation stems from my mind
I’m not alone
I can talk to Carl or Chris or Peyton or my mom
I get touched
hand held
tight crushing arms that smell like my man
but as soon as he lets go
I’m isolated
my thoughts turn to blank dull walls
no art or fresh paint
not purple like my kitchen
but grey like a city pigeon
I’m spinning a lot as of late
like I just got off a merry go round
it scares me like smiling horses do
my belly aches
like I’ve done all the sit ups I’ve been avoiding
or I’m about to get my period
and we know that’s not happening
my dogs breath goes into labor
as she drags herself across the room
too thirsty to wait for me to fill her water bowl
so she takes a nap
arms writing I’m bored
my fingers dance death across an empty page
it’s always about my last breath
the rooster begs for food with finding his voice
I’m begging for a couch to lay my boredom on
I’m a spoiled brat
entertained by overpriced dinners
museums I rush through to get to the drinks
we sit quiet
perhaps that’s what happens
it’s what I always feared
quiet
not the good quiet
where a soft smile hides inside my cheeks
quiet quiet
the kind that makes me want to run out
into the wet morning grass
screaming at the orange rising sun kind of quiet
the kind of quiet where date night is too hard to organize
when dogs need to be feed
sheets need to be changed
the quiet where there are answers to unheard questions
short answers or just a nod
the kind of quiet that makes me want to hurt someone
not with words but with bristles
with throwing knives from the back closet
with needle pointy martini skewers
it hasn’t always been this quiet
just last night we laughed
held hands until dreams took us away
awoke to our crowing hungry rooster
that might happen again
perhaps later
when the sun sets
the wind comes up
then quiet could fall apart
forget to keep quiet
a question will rise like bread about to burst from the oven
what should we have for dinner
my humble has been pulled to the surface
drawn there by scars and my fathers echos
it’s a comforting thought
that dad is waiting for me
those promises are broken before they’re made
things I know about myself
never change
past the enlightening retreats and European adventures
he’s a mystery to me
it’s his profile that keeps me close
in the quiet
the bored as fuck quiet
as fuck fuck fuck
bored bored bored
as fuck
fuck that
insanity from isolation
isolation stems from my mind
I’m not alone
I can talk to Carl or Chris or Peyton or my mom
I get touched
hand held
tight crushing arms that smell like my man
but as soon as he lets go
I’m isolated
my thoughts turn to blank dull walls
no art or fresh paint
not purple like my kitchen
but grey like a city pigeon
I’m spinning a lot as of late
like I just got off a merry go round
it scares me like smiling horses do
my belly aches
like I’ve done all the sit ups I’ve been avoiding
or I’m about to get my period
and we know that’s not happening
my dogs breath goes into labor
as she drags herself across the room
too thirsty to wait for me to fill her water bowl
so she takes a nap
arms writing I’m bored
my fingers dance death across an empty page
it’s always about my last breath
the rooster begs for food with finding his voice
I’m begging for a couch to lay my boredom on
I’m a spoiled brat
entertained by overpriced dinners
museums I rush through to get to the drinks
we sit quiet
perhaps that’s what happens
it’s what I always feared
quiet
not the good quiet
where a soft smile hides inside my cheeks
quiet quiet
the kind that makes me want to run out
into the wet morning grass
screaming at the orange rising sun kind of quiet
the kind of quiet where date night is too hard to organize
when dogs need to be feed
sheets need to be changed
the quiet where there are answers to unheard questions
short answers or just a nod
the kind of quiet that makes me want to hurt someone
not with words but with bristles
with throwing knives from the back closet
with needle pointy martini skewers
it hasn’t always been this quiet
just last night we laughed
held hands until dreams took us away
awoke to our crowing hungry rooster
that might happen again
perhaps later
when the sun sets
the wind comes up
then quiet could fall apart
forget to keep quiet
a question will rise like bread about to burst from the oven
what should we have for dinner
my humble has been pulled to the surface
drawn there by scars and my fathers echos
it’s a comforting thought
that dad is waiting for me
those promises are broken before they’re made
things I know about myself
never change
past the enlightening retreats and European adventures
he’s a mystery to me
it’s his profile that keeps me close
in the quiet
the bored as fuck quiet
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