waking up in worry
is no fun;
it's an all-day blanket
stuck to sweaty legs.
I am impatient
and I want to scream
why to the world.
How's Maine?
I miss you,
but don't tell anyone,
especially yourself,
because we are whatever,
and just taking it
day by slaying day.
this trampoline
makes me nauseous
from the up and down,
down and up,
but I've learned
that anger is just fear,
disguised,
like two kids in a trench coat.
going to bed
with a head full of worry
is tons of fun,
dangerous definitely not boring,
and tomorrow will be new,
and full of silly thought surprises.
I wish this,
I wish that,
are you mad at me,
and blah, blah, blah.