I guess some days are bound to be like this.
Annoyed about the number on the scale,
I cast about for fuel and then the kiss
I give my boy goodbye is silver pale
against the heat I nurture in my heart,
and to my girl my words conceal a curse –
so “Have a (fuck you) good day” I impart,
and hope my attitude will not get worse.

I bike it smoke it walk it out of me,
count off my blessings, alter point of view.
I watch the little worries wiggle free
and figure that the best thing I can do
is hold the line in stubborn unsurrender,
when maybe I should be a better bender.