i used to enjoy the mood swings
here, there
and everywhere
they always managed to keep things alive
its not so fun anymore
i want the happy back
crave the calm
beg for the zen of things
a mindful peace
when the tazmanian devil-like
critics’ yammering
gets to me
their yelling, louder
their boots heavier
leaning on my neck
weighing down on my shoulders
growing bigger
high amplification
until the screams are deafening
and all i can hear
is their shouts of
angst and self-hate
screeching
playing with the knobs
on their radios
cranked up
blasting me out
the taste of them
palable
acidic
coating tongue
only then
when i see them
smell them
hear them
taste them
feel them
do i really
start to believe them, you know
only then do i realize
the significance of yelling back
“PIPE DOWN!”
i am in great need of some grounding
before these kite strings are slashed
sending me sailing
off into the
clouds
or at least stuck in a tree somewhere