Cracking up

Cracking up

I don’t always celebrate my birth, but

I’m cracking down on pity parties.

Sometimes existence

is mere air, mere breath

fewer blue and pink balloons

fewer bright thoughts

tied with string

more the nightmare

costume party

so many iterations

of ghastly fabrics

a never-ending parade

of all my hair mistakes

precious time spent

with pretenders

posers

make up

for all the cracking

up.