i believe that some of us as poets try to make things more beautiful than they really are.
there are days where i am sick to my stomach with fear or anger,
but i'll describe it as puking up flowers
in a sad attempt to make something beautiful out of what kills me.
or maybe we're just bored,
and we want to pretend that walking through sliding doors will take us to another dimension,
where things we regret did not yet happen.
we'll create such wild concepts while tricking ourselves into believing that this isn't reality,
this isn't real and all the little fuck-ups we produce over the course of time are just nightmares we'll wake up from.
but to the misfortune of most, they are not.
so we will deal and conjure up fantasies
like there being fairies in the walls to deal with the fact that your favorite mug fell from the counter-top,
or that you lost your rent money because a witch cursed you for cutting her off on the way back from the store,
and maybe it'll make things a little less painful to go through.
