(154 words) Jun 20 2018
by S.R.A. Markin
i get a kick out of it when people say life is hard
i know it is
i usually just keep it to myself.
trembling and leading ink onto lined-paper
incoherent. smudges that seep through the pages
starring off at dandelions, the heads disperse into the breeze
and the white fluff falls at my feet
mosquitos buzz, and none land
but the idea gives me an itch
and i scratch until i bleed.
it is hot within my hoodie
and when i close my eyes, i think of the river
the sun burning my skin, the sun
i’ve been hiding for ten-days
out of the sun and in shade
indoors, and in bed
in my garage and crying on the floor
it is about time to kick back
go about my day
i have the right, just as anyone else
life is hard
and so fucking what.
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