i glaze it w honey (in moderation all good for me)

need to stop forcing myself
relax and stop waxing
satisfaction never guaranteed
i can’t promise it’ll net me worth
and the more i wish it so, the less it does

never used to have projects this wholesome
to walk home thinking about my stories
and how to finish them
to wake up and wonder if i’ll finish any today
but i feel overwhelmed by choice
and the pressure i put on myself
i’m shut down, caged can’t formulate
i’m no longer a torrent of ideas,
i’ve put myself on a pedestal but i’m afraid of heights
so i climb back down and try to tap back in
remembering the rules that i remembered to forget
i’ll try to free myself again
and burn away barriers of my own making

what exactly am i tapping back into?
and what was it that stopped me in the first place
willing to explore in hope that i will find
some kind of door, a passage, a prompt
an opening but really it’s myself
the door is me and my pressure has closed it
and now it’s stuffy in here while i’m trying to think
watch as i sweat out all of my minerals
dry as a bone i’m drained, dry fruit
cold and wrinkly but still slightly nutritious
i was juicy once, but can dry fruit make it all the way back?

this raisin says it can so
but this raisin needs to pace itself
remember what the games about
i enjoy myself
so the tiny raisin defies all odds
defies history, growing green
but does not stop at grape, adapting
taking from all fruit, becoming
bananaesque and avocadoish
apple-y and orangelike
melon sized with mango vibes
seasonal like clementines
like plantain shallow fry me
peel me, taste me and consume me
i’m nutritious cold and wrinkly
i am a fruit of prey
and if you don’t like it then you can go suck a lemon
because i’m dry fruit with ambition
aiming to reclaim turns of phrase
i rejoice in going pear-shaped
i’m forbidden fruit that’s good for you
and i’d rather eat the cherry
in my spacious pea pod claiming
cucumbers were never cool
but always subjective i’m flexin now
waxin now maybe i’m in bloom again

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