A Better Version of Me
She writes and she fights
the same battles for light
that rattle my bones
and upheave my homes
with more grace and better tones.
Her privilege is higher maybe
her fire is brighter, maybe
I’m just uninspired.
While she got sharper
I got darker, fooled
into thinking I was smarter.
Oh well — I’ve always been late
to bloom and fast to swoon
traits that keep me
drowning in doom. She’d laugh —
her mirror half, vanilla in life and craft.
Let your suffering slide, she’d say
we’ve nothing to hide — all human
on the same janky ride. We are
a process, never a thing
so just cut the strings and let yourself sing.
follow wormwood for periodic weird.