you are the unsharpened
point
of a pencil.
the leaking ink
of a pen,
blotting
your shirt.
some days you are the burnt
toast,
the smoke
alarm going off,
the car that won't turn
over.
the stubbed toe.
soured milk.
some days
are just like that,
there's no going around
them. you just
hang on and wait
for time to pass.
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