For Now
Drunk by midmorning
never so discontent
or desperate,
some say crazy.

Perhaps?

Muddled like old macaroni
sitting in the sun,
and yet unattended.

Bothersome;
all this extra skin,
this baggage,
these pieces to
someone else’s puzzle
I’m stuck with.

For now.

And crying about it
never helps,
just trails cheap eyeliner
to my lips.

Making a clown
out of a doll’s face,
like spoon feeding
a baby;
nothing but mess.

Yet I know
I still have so much to look forward too,
I do!

Just no way to get there.