Handfuls of air

trying too hard
to be myself
when what i am
is not hard.
softly spread thin
and losing substantiality,
this coarseness requires
an acquired taste.
such grit kneads
loose regard.
debris tickles
fickle fingers,
to which winds
pull grasps.

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Receipt disappointment

just throw it away
and don’t think
about it.
out of sight
out of mind,
but the mind
still sees.
could-have-been
phantoms live
in possibility.
reality discredits
an imagination
disillusioned of
what could’ve be.
churning chance
in a vat of hopefulness,
likeliness speaks nil,
cooking a disingenuous delirium.