a slice of bread, a cup of tea
remind me of my luxury.
i'm so blessed to joke and jest
but when we fall, we must agree
that jokes are plain when said in vain.
people die while we complain.
and we defy our mortal eyes
and turn our backs on those we blame.
how hard is it to live as one?
we run from problems, come for fun.
our beatened burdened souls begun
but turned aside when met with guns.
why is it that our lives depend
on temporary things that mend?
why cant i be fully me?
why cant i act and not pretend?
a slice of bread, a cup of tea
remind me of my luxury.
i'm so blessed but overstressed.
why cant i live fully me?
YOU ARE READING
nothing makes matters worse
Poetrywhen matters are worse as is. . . -poetry, man's way of being unclear
