What a ball of weirdness
that tumbles in my throat
when somebody calls me “wise.”
I used to be a bartender.
Oh, don’t call me wise.
Even my mother wouldn’t call me that.
Ha, no just I mean she certainly would not.
One time in eighth grade
I puked in the middle of class.
They say, “Wise words” and I’d like to take credit
but I could’ve heard it on the radio
the day I was born.
I left my purse in the food court last week.
I guess you could write like that, too,
if you spent all your time
reading books in the park when you
should’ve been out making friends.
I spilled pasta sauce on the keyboard
when I wrote that
They say, “The way you conduct yourself”
and I say that I hope my mother is ok
with the lopsided way I came out
but I really try.
Once I almost dated a Westboro Baptist,
so I guess that was wise that I didn’t.
Sometimes I do take credit
for the things my antenna picks up
because I think no one else will hear it
and no one will say it
so it has to be me
but putting a couple of coins in the box
doesn’t make me a martyr, either.
It comes and goes.