Alarm

I apologize for tripping the alarm

I didn’t mean any harm

I thought that talking about how I feel

Would help others feel less alone

I didn’t realize

That people read these

Worry, fret, even sometimes

Call home.

I often write about

How I felt, not how I feel

When I’m feeling

The way I write

I’m not able to tell

Anyone about it–

I’m busy !!

Melting down.

I love that you are wary,

I worry about you sometimes, as well

Not when you’re writing poems, though

When you’re driving

And exploding about someone’s

Poor choice.

Seriously, though

Isn’t road rage

A form of suicidal/homicidal

Behavior, as well?

Or smoking

Or eating until you throw up

Or lifting as much weight as you can

Until your back breaks

So you have a reason

To look as broken as you feel.

Don’t worry about me, darling

It’s only poetry,

I couldn’t possibly write

With cadence and rhyme

While also contemplating

Going to hell


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