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.


Receipt disappointment

just throw it away
and don’t think
about it.
out of sight
out of mind,
but the mind
still sees.
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.