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