I Literally Can’t Even


A coffee shop burrito tends to my stomach’s growls
As I sip from my rapidly cooling mug
And attempt to write clever things.

A fly sits on the wall,
Rubbing its hands together hungrily at my
Turkey bacon and cheddar

I don’t wave it away,
Because I’m being an existentialist today.

I have a thousand words to say,
But the silence is much more intelligible.

My coffee is lukewarm,
Like my commitment to anyone and everything.

I’ve learned about life
In a soft and bitter way
I’ve learned that I know less than I assumed I did.

The white girl’s burden
Is tweeting and thrift stores
And being a little too self aware.

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