My mouth speaks miles in silence,
I mumble into my phone, type it out, then roll through my memos and let them grow longer and more robust.
I mix you together and throw you out there like an ape hurling shit.
That’s why I’m anonymous, secret shit flicker.
But sometimes I tell a story, that I then feel embarrassed about.
I blurt it out all in one go.
In a lot of my stories I acted poorly or someone else did.
Stories worth telling need to have something happen, someone needs to get hurt.
Most of the things I think of lack direction, but if I pluck from real life, that’s already done.
The mess is made and I just get to log it.
The direction is always towards me sitting here now, probably feeling a bit crap.
Sometimes I can’t tell if I feel better or worse when I’m finished.