Made With 2%

To strain or not to strain? That is the question—

No no, not the Greek yogurt in my cherry heart.

Do I filter this foreign, vulgar tongue?

Perhaps I am the most unbecoming debutante—

Maybe just the most insightful.

I strain to keep what is true and righteous inside,

Yet I know if let my pregnant words slip

My fiery whisper will be bottled and sealed.

Is it so wrong to question?

To wonder and hypothesize and be wrong?

The broken record of No’s and Yes’s

Just to shut up a wordy student

Teaches nothing.

I am always wrong.

The less I strain and filter, the worse

My thoughts become.

Here I am, sinking in a sea of question:

What came first, the chicken or the egg?

If you kill your grandfather before he met

Your grandmother, what happens?

Yet I know a secret-

These questions have been asked already.

The more I stray in thought the more I become

Someone else’s words,

Hitching a ride on the wonder of another.

How do I create my own?

Hell, when will I make my own?

Even here I write and just know these words

Belong to 27 other kids, just as dumb as me.

Fear not! There is a solution to this horror and suffering!

Each morning you take your sunshine pill,

And it soaks up the mess that is leaking out onto everyone

Who just will not hear it.