Ferocious Teenytiny

Where I constantly think I’ve got it figured out

Everything

I got it

I’m working on that thing

Anyway I thought I had this thing figured out

Like years ago at this point

No more than two—but

Still more than one

So it turns out my definition of figuring it out

In this case

Was landing on sadness

And being angry with that sadness

Giving anger all my power to maybe fix it

And letting the heat fall to a simmer

Cool enough to manage

Okay let me be the first one to say,

I was so totally wrong and even now

I’m still sad. I don’t have this.

So here’s my plan:

Step one: acknowledge my pain

Step two: acknowledge his pain

Step three: apologize

Step four: light a candle and mourn the half-baked plans and meeting his family abroad. Laugh at all the jokes I would have told. Kind of, nod, at what life could have been. It’s time to stop wanting it.

I’d call it a hiccup

A second guessing

Of the second coming

Hey man all I’m asking for is

I like binge watching cartoons in pajamas all day (when it’s trash out)

I like walks and salt water

I like dogs. All dogs

I like cats. Most cats. But really all cats

I like cooking

I like protecting my friends

I like giving good advice

I like my sense of humor, quickness to puns

I like painting

I like reading

I like my capability of sensing the world around me

I like being tough as nails

I like secretly being v soff and sweet to friends

I like feeding birds

I like that I’m still in pieces, and I like that I’ve found things to like in the shards. I will likely be (as I’ve found, most people are) somewhat broken—I’ve found wisdom in my follies, hope in my heartbreaks, lessons in my cruelty.