My Cinnamon Hope
Took a lot of macaroni and cheese.
And the cheese is melted.
I thought I was as special as new stuff.
New stuff hopping around.
Took a lot of spice on the path.
Sprinkled everywhere.
Cinnamon is sparkly stuff.
I have a mental illness made of new gravity.
The burdens are growling.
Took out the trash which is a gold mine.
Took a lot of macaroni and cheese.
Bubbling up and never settled.
Like the crust of hopeful thoughts.
Mental illness sounds like:
A bunch of cinnamon grooving around under stalagmites.
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