They say write something pertinent:
politics or philosophy, oysters for real writers
… … yet I’m as empty as a puppy love promise
They say men are made of steel, women are made of water
yet I end up being the love child
of bilingual punch lines, fart jokes, and daddy issues
Wilde and Baudelaire succumbed to syphilis
I only deserve scratching its less scandalous distant cousin
Eczema
that flare up in the middle of the night
constellation of scars that bloom from dollar store soap

The truth is,
I don’t dare to eat peaches
don’t wanna be swallowing coals
All of my hilariously tragic backgrounds
ain’t meant to amount to anything
Grand or glorious, may it be, let it slide
I only serve and devote for a stifled giggle
or a spit take if you prefer
I’m just existing
breathing and living
Spitting out a joke or two as I go
as the comic relief