6.25.2022... A.M. brain dump

I've made myself sick to my stomach Over hushed whispers and mumbled muttering From lips and voices that aren't familiar, they're foreign And yet, I continue to let them lay claim to my dwelling I'm sick from selling myself short Not giving my talent enough credit Lift up my standards and my price to the level of my excitement when I finally come to an end, stare in awe at my creation The sensation has my soul lifted to the highest of elevations I bet mount everest never had felt blood pool up it's sinuses But there she lies, with a tampon shoved up it's nose My happiness, my confidence, my ambition... Miles above that petty attempt at world wonder height. Work in progress.