open mic poem

she has crushes on guys who smoke weed,
he drinks tall glasses of three dollar beer with fruit,
they make me laugh
they help me smile
and overcome the gravity of a heart leaden and broken
broken like:
ground beef
through a shredder,
tree chipper,
or that thing that Chef Ramsey uses to make pasta.

we sit sipping bourbon,
eating Michters drenched cherries,
tying knots with lonely uncensored tongues.
the cherry stems remind me of me,
twisted yet sweet,
bendable but hard to break.
on the rocks my drink is just like life.
beauty lies in creating this

a ukulele
a rapper with beats on a laptop
old souls in twenty-something poets' bodies
we all know who we aren't.
we daily try to find who we are...sometimes.
we never know what we can do,
thrive on what we are told we can't.
and that's OK
we know we don't have to do it alone.