Sometimes I wish
to dress my words up,
cover them in
horrible metaphors,
half-assed glittery similes,
typewritten charm
that died ages ago
that’s now been
done to death
so more people will
pay attention
to the things
inside my heart.

And that’s what’s
wrong with everything,
attention in all
the wrong places,
barely there ideas
wearing tuxedos
charming the hell out
of all the wrong people,
when there’s so much
beauty in simplicity
that’s often glossed over
because it refuses
to be shoved
down your throat.