Of course, this has to be unique to

AlisonAudrey

so this will be about

insanity

If I could be a color, I would be burnt orange

and nothing rhymes with orange

so I will awkwardly

turn to my next stanza

As a writer, I see myself as someone

who sips on bourbon, lit inside, turnt up

a testament to the messed up

doing a metaphorical hair flip, pressing “publish”

While in the meantime

I see the world in bleak opaque demeanor,

never the same person

always talking up her achievements

Once I wrote a poem about comets

and expected it to get recognition

I did the same with schizophrenia

and wanted my pain to be cognizant

In reality, I am someone

who never plays the spade

but sits unaware,

in a daydream

I am a writer

who needs space to procreate

words, vocabulary

my contributions to Prose secondary

to my main talent,

which is sipping on red wine

unable to

see to the truth beyond hope, a timely demise

I will not deny it - I knew it was love when she finished her fries, licked her fingers, and said, “My safe word is Miracle Whip - are you getting the check, or am I?”

Twenty years later, we snuggle and laugh as the outtakes of Melissa McCarthy and her husband roll during the credits of “Bridesmaids.” I’m not saying I’m into food sex all that much, but when I say, “Make me a sandwhich, please.” my wife sternly, gleefully, takes my hand - and she leads me to the bedroom, not the kitchen.