Cause f*cking up takes practice
&
I feel I’m well rehearsed

A comment and a couple likes
is something, but it won’t suffice
there’s fruit down here, it’s free to take
but it’s too ripe to suit my tastes

this ain’t the place that I wanna be
at the bottom of this poet tree
as they all ripen, heavy fruits
come down and knock me for a loop

but still I sit, knots on my skull
can’t find a branch to get a hold
the bark’s too smooth to get a grip
so every time I try, I slip

a couple scrapes, some minor cuts
they sting, but I don’t give a ****
because the place I wanna be
is further up this poet tree

Today I practice gratitude.
Little children practice writing
by repeating letters
on creamy paper
over
over  and
over again
until the page
is filled to the rim
like an overflowing bottle.
I lay in bed
in the morning
turn my eyes to the ceiling
and repeat
a list
of things
I am grateful for.
The sun shining
on the windows
making them seem like mirrors.
Wet soil
which is going to grow
new crops in summer.
The skin which covers me
and keeps me intact.
The promise
of the morning
that I might get it right today.
I lay down
in silence
obedient as a piece
of furniture
and embroid
gratitude
on my static body
in all the colors I cannot see.
I embroid it until it covers me whole.
Until it gulps up any shadow
whispering nightmares.
I practice gratitude
thought by thought
until it becomes
instinctive
immediate
like blinking
like swallowing
like thinking.

In second grade I got
an honorable mention
In the piano state

For those of you who don’t know
This competition has a first place,
I’ve forgotten the name
Runner up
And honorable mention
Below that was a 1
And a 2

I don’t know if
Only a certain number could
Be in each category
But I did know for each age level
There was certainly more than one

Either way, I was excited
Pleased

The next year,
I got a 1

The year after that,
I broke down crying
Thoroughly
Unprepared
And got a 2

The year after
I got a 1

The year after
I got a 1

The year after
I got a 1

The year after
I got a 1

And no that was not a mis
Type
That was really how it was

I switched piano teachers
And vowed I’d do better this time
But I spent most of my summer
Out of town
And I didn’t get the practice
I needed

The year after
I got a 1

This year,
I’m participating
Once again

And I’m tired
At the monotony of it all

But,
Can I actually
Overcome my laziness and time restrainsts and practice
The amount I need?

Well,
memories,
hemorrhages
well
up from the sticky hole.

One time, I fell and hit my head
three times, three places, once in each:
the cabinet, the sink, the bathtub.

Practice being me by proxy.
Out of my head. Out my head.
Tangible damages,
incorporeal skeins.
Mess? Wreck. Heck,

This time, I stood and cracked
my skull on the cabinet:
Clarity? Is that you?

Practiced being me by proxy,
so so long.
Practiced being me by proxy.
Practiced being me by proxy,
so so long.
Practiced being me by proxy.

Clarity?
Or is this
an actual
hemorrhage?

Well,
Memory,
my sticky hole
is filling up
where the water was ****** by the ground.