I counted to 10, and then to 153

my professor raised her voice at me
behind the closed door of her office
and i raised mine back
she said “You were never a good student
to begin with.”
And I said, “Yeah, professor,
because i had three jobs, and then
i got sick, and then my house burned down
with all my shit in it.”
She said, “Those were choices,
the jobs at least. And you know,
i never really got a chance
to talk to you about your poetry
it really needs more training
it is completely off the page
it’s sloppy and it comes off
as laziness. I really don’t like it.”
then i realized the only way
to pass this class was to practice
some humility and i bowed my head
I said “What can i do to fix it?”
and she said she would only give me
a passing grade because she felt sorry for me
and i deserved much less
and then she took the opportunity
to lament my sad little life
and how id end up penniless
if i didnt pursue a PHD
I said “Actually, I’m quite happy.”
She said, “That’s what all
exploited people think.
And do you even have a bed to sleep on?
Oh, I can’t even imagine!”
and she grinned

the ceiling

today was meant to be my clean up day
i would make donations, bake cookies
make up a month of lesson plans
alleviate and dissipate my disaster
and vacuum up the remains

but i just finished filing two police reports
because the unexpected is a thief
now today is a lost day, its been stolen from me
its not even noon yet
but all i will do from the afternoon into the evening
is cry into my dog’s hair and look up at the ceiling

my dog panicked

you know that feeling after you lose everything
that you start to rebuild and you’ve just calmed down enough
to buy cookie mix and thank you cards
and then immediately after, you place your wallet in the pocket
of your donated jacket, and shortly after that
somehow, you lose it

i do, its devastating. ive retraced my steps
ive taken pills, ive smoked cigarettes
i cannot find it. i cried so hard curled up
against my refrigerator for so long that my dog panicked

happiness is

you can note that my methodology
relies on spite and enemies
only if you also mention
that I have survived and I am thriving
and I wouldnt have the guts
to stand up for myself
or to never, ever speak to my mother again
or to talk to Kelly’s manager
in such a vindictive manner as i am
if my support system hadnt grown
into a magnificent well of acid
i could draw from and splash in my enemies’ faces
and you should also note that after all,
im quite happy!