There it was on the mahogany table -
Pieces of me scribbled on faded yellow

She called it a poem as she sipped
her coffee

I laughed and said it was pretty
crappy to be
called a poem

But I was ninety-nine times lighter
and the
voices I befriended in misery,

they were all quiet – something
I hadn’t quite felt in ages

I thought as I looked at it;
A little less in disgust
And more in acceptance this time

© the.misfits