There was no mist,
I wasn't peer pressured
I kinda just flowed like the smoke itself
Pushed by self-conviction like "this is something I need to do for myself"
Because one rarely get to unwind in school, at church, or in their very home
The smoke was a vice too good to pass up,
The blunt, a fine suitor for this fine gentleman who had outright wanted a break from worldly things or ... is the plant also worldly, mundane, filthy-
It's funny, that things hold a degrading connotation only when you want it to
Your nagging and constant lectures were of an ear-sore, an infection no wonder I looked for remedy in a plant-
You caused this
And I let my conviction drive me home
Hands on the steering wheel I heard your voice telling me that it was unsafe to go past all the red lights
I heard sirens
All this
Through one puff.
YOU ARE READING
Not Quite, Midnight | poems
Poetry~she sets out to write for herself but casts a line from her ship of lunatics in case there was someone adrift trying to read along.
