Not bitching.
Not looking for pity.
Just trying to explain.
The mindfuck.
The anxiety.
The real.
Sorting it out.
Empty my pockets.
The things I find at the bottom of my purse.
An old target receipt.
A package of hot sauce.
A button I can no longer remember its garment.
A crushed fortune cookie.
Why am I carrying these things around?
The weight adds up.
How one simple act can change my day.
This is a space where I have a mid life crisis, write about my creative journey, and talk about songwriting and share bits of terrible poetry.
Weight
Written in
by
My Piano Needs to be Tuned 
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