a fucking poem
with everybody fighting
all the time?
In my head they are
buzzing and brewing and
planning and scheming.
I’m always the last to know
what they’re
up
to.
or so it seems.
Some people got
“dysfunctional families”
on the outside.
Ones they can touch and feel
and know are real.
My dysfunctional family
is like a mystery
that I missed-
and I miss
the sureness I felt
when I didn’t know anything,
which was never
I guess.
In my head there are
whole worlds
the cast of characters
is endless.
Unfortunately,
nobody who writes poetry
is free,
So you’re stuck with me.
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