Squirming worms in my brain
make yourself useful
tell the stories
change the endings
where bad things happen
but I look good
I’m the laughing
not the laughed-at
and always understand the punch lines

Squirming worms in my brain
shift the characters
give me the better lines
the more comical jokes
the crushing reply right here and now
instead of hours later
place me in the center stage
comfortable in the spot light
I am loved from afar
but loved

squirming worms in my brain
stop retelling my shame
the moment of humiliation played out
for a thousand laughing audiences
my flame streaked cheeks and mortification
the summit of their evening
scream “enough!”
you useless worms
cease the greasy clamor in my head
make it stop
make them (pay)

*artwork by serena*


About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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