at home

lia 3.JPG

we’re at home
and she’s worried
’bout lookin’ pretty,

and i’m
gross and stinky,
my morning clothes
be stayin’ wit me.

my dog
will lick a turd,
and my dog
won’t even sniff me.

and we’re at home,
we’re at home,
and she’s tryin’
to stay busy,

while i’m
face first in greens
and i’m
feelin’ dizzy.

the week
was gray and misty,
but now
it feels like Disney,

and it won’t last,
it won’t last,

the grays
get grayer
the more
burnt that i get,

my mother
sends a prayer
the continent,

and we’re at home,
we’re at home,
and you’re still
finding purpose,
and i
can’t find it worth it,

the home
is for the workless,
your movements
make me nervous.

my ass
is really burnin’,
this seat
is like a furnace,

my eyes
are really burnin’,
fries my circuits,

but i’m focused
on the skirmish,
these people
feelin’ Kermit,
feelin’ froggy

feelin’ green
about it,
but don’t be
mean about it,
leap about it,
be about it.

i don’t have
a doubt about it,
the home’s a
workweek outage,

so take a seat,
wait a beat,
we done our tricks,
the home’s the treat.

alone with me,
get flown with me,
we’re at home,
ungrow with me.

“at home”
©Steven Cuenca

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