There’s a reason why things move slower in Chadbourne 420.
12:43, nine minutes past my ideal but the channel still becomes clear.
It’s open and waiting for me,
But I’ve decided to scrap the binary between
Pleasing everyone and doing everything.
I’ve submitted to the comforting chill of my self-important path.
The free caffeine I nabbed to speed me
I grabbed from Peets so freely,
It pleased me, breezing from knee deep to key’s sheen.
And it all unlocks.
There’s a somberness you get from seeing portals close unattended to,
But there’s solace in the fact that it was never your responsibility to make it.
Prioritizing between the musts and cans has turned the poetry of my to-do
Into insurmountable beasts growing heads that sound like my father.
But no more. Now, I write.