You’re reading Good Grief. We’re glad you’re here. Enjoy this week’s original piece!
I'm in the mood to boil over. To slow-burn, to blow out candles, to make-believe I wished for one wild dream. I’m stimulated by superstition, the way it can crawl up through a crowd and hide itself away, a plastic baby in a king cake. All of a sudden: a superior slice. Good luck can only glow when it's backlit by the bad. I wished for the right slice. I shouldn't have told you. I wanna be a good sport when I win. I wanna pretend it’s not about winning, that my part- icipation in the process was the real prize, that i've found strength through all this conditioning. Tell me something I don’t know, I say. I’m from here. Which they hate about me. I’m faking this yawn, which spreads to the wide-open mouths of the boring people, boring themselves into oblivion, which we on fire at them for, flailing and flaming about, which they understand to be yawns -- We're taking up the wide-open spaces, making noise with our wide-open mouths, burning out, which they say is why they couldn't see outside themselves, past the burning bunch of us. None of us saw the pack of wolves out back, wide open mouths screaming and crying and howling. Legend says the wolves just left us there, kept on going. Which we think says it all. Which they need to see to believe. It's always political. Which they hate about us, because their politics say so. We hate them for that. We've agreed to let the wolves pick sides.
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very cool. I would love to write, but I kinda suck at it.
Beautiful work. This poem encompasses so many topics that just flow together so easily. What a way with words!