clunky

a muffled tambourine
and many muted choral tunes
play beyond my ear phones
ruining my already soured mood
a food for thought
is what religion gave me
now my head is screaming “fuck you”

anger, when it’s present
takes away my gift of thought
losing rationality
and my biggest anxiety
is still the number of times
professors told me big words
weren’t meant for poetry

 

 

 

Angela Bachmann

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