a diary poem
Back in grade school, I thought I had it rough,
But college came and addiction claimed a friendly hug,
Smoking between unattended classes,
And spending intelligence studying acid,
Meeting the newest group of people,
And places I will retain,
Like a diary page on how you found out,
That you were a lesbian.
attention to detail
I discover traits of myself all the time.
For some elaboration,
I cleaned bathrooms full-time for a year and a half
before realizing that I consistently missed one article
of the porcelain equipment:
The flush mechanism.
For some definition:
I often miss the last stair.
And to romanticize with contemporary penmanship:
I am ill-qualified to immaculate.