detail me in your brain as a mound of celery
only there to keep things interesting
but nobody seems to ever like me
can't you imagine the tragedy?
only those really caring about small tastes
or bearing through for a reward on their buds
really wants to eat celery, and same with me
struggling to keep me down forcefully
gags and moans, warning of the roughness
tears in my eyes are peanut butter globs on celery
useless to make you like the base of it all
but makes you tolerate it for the mean time
the cries of my shallow thoughts draw people
and they stick with me as long as i need
only till the taste wears off
and sometimes even the peanut butter wears off
rather soon in the strums of human life
picture me softly
like a mound of celery
weeping a melody
times forgotten: 3.
YOU ARE READING
I'll Be Fine (pt. 2 of 2)
Poetrypoetry showing my stress. relieving, coping, really. continuing to add poems, sometimes daily. use this as place to talk about your own frustrations and dances with pain and strife
