Commonplace Indifference

To speak in good taste:
My mouth is full,
but this food is delicious.
Since I prepared the meal,
could you wash the dishes?

It’s on the tip of my tongue:
I know what I mean to say,
but consonants and vowels
are hard to place,
so give me some time.
This isn’t a race.

It could always be worse:
Yes, it could be,
but spare the neurotic,
because hypotheticals,
are never exotic.

If there’s a will,
there’s a way:
Excuse the jaded fuck,
who puts thought into thought,
and understands the
value of a buck.

But to speak freely,
and to lose my filter,
our differences are
commonplace.
I’m a flower
that withers.

And
at the end of the day,
who am I to say,
that my frustrations
differ from yours,
because we keep all of our truths
locked
behind closed doors

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