Can’t Think Straight
I don’t know about you.
I know little enough of
myself, except of the child
in me at this very moment;
children, not my thing, but I
so wanna throw a big snotty
tantrum right now that I just
wanna I wanna I wanna, and
then leave whatever mess I
happen to make to the sweet
souls (such as, let me say and
be done with it, you) who’ll
so graciously coddle me,
flawed me, thankful me,
spiteful me, entitled me,
precious me. Thank you
for being so curious, turn
me into something better,
feed me, don’t take any-
thing I say at its absolute
word, and above all, get
serious! Unaware as you
probably are that I am.
Pick me up, you’re the
only one who knows
where I live, but
don’t tell, it’s a
secret only you will
ever know. I have
to go now. I know
it’s best. I really
don’t wanna.
But I’m gonna.
I know my way
out, as of course
you well know.
There are plenty
of sure things in
life, like why I’m
almost always
here, or when
I’m pulling your
leg, turning all
hot, what I
would say
whispering
into your ear,
but do not,
and why.
That your
ear makes me
wonder about
ears like I never
do, but used to.
I can only hope
that by now
you can see
how meaning-
less I have
become.
Don’t do as
I say, nor do
as I do. I
need, I think,
to fall asleep,
say good night,
offer my con-
dolences. Pay
me no heed,
I don’t mean
to offend, but
there’s only
one thing
that I need
(says the
heart on my
sleeve), and
I daresay I
must with
all circum-
spect believe
that on this
one thing we
would have
to agree,
don’t you
think?
