What Gives Me Joy

 I don`t care anymore

I`ll smoke in my own fucking house, not outside where the mountains stare and think back at me
The ash begs for me to stir, add egg shells and coffee grains for the plants
Tamper with the lighter as if it lights up your `hourglass life`
I don`t surmise about my purpose anymore
I`m here to only be a voice and a sugar plum that people only want to squeeze and devour
Somehow I see the future- giving speeches, travelling this darling world
Cover me in gold as I walk through the mud -cleansed and awakened
What else don`t I know?
They say that knowledge is power
So I light another cigarette and write more boring stanzas in hope of you one day understanding me
The smell of the oven makes me happy, the smell of sawdust makes me happy, the sight of dirt
shuffling as the earthworm makes it to the surface gives me joy
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13 thoughts on “What Gives Me Joy

    1. What do you mean by declaration? It’s a poem about me being ambiguous towards my smoking habits:which has been on and off. My fiance works most of the time so I get to sit and stir in the moments of consciousness. I’m allowing my third eye to witness the beauty yet struggles of the world. I aim to fit in with the health logic but my muse wants me to stick to my earthly ways.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. As I read your poem, I got the distinct feeling, especially with the first four lines, that you are making a declaration to live your life your way and not by some external standard. I don’t know maybe I am just being subjective.

        Awesome poem anyhow!

        Liked by 1 person

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