Happening

My life is very easy but predictably hard I trudge through acidic purpose despite my many scars The burns are reminders with scabs at the crust my skin is mostly ashes heaped among the dust I’m tired, wired, admonished, admired considered snake slithered bitten by liars who can’t stand my taste and won’t take it sitting down they call me nicknames like fool and clown. Yet I don’t fool around as I see their brows perspire at what may happen.