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Bento Life

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It's a life of tiny shards, make it pretty.
Meat, rice, vegetables, fish, sugar, spice.
Everything and nothing is nice.
The culmination inside another wistful dream.
Compartmentalized for a fleeting moment.
Consumed like fire in a pit.
Corrugated cardboard container.
Sectioned off and in manageable pieces.
Been ready to walk the road for years.
Should have turned left at that last fork.
Coasting through the journey,
asking the wrong questions,
Getting the right answers.
Every ounce of me bleeds "no"
The volume on the radio is at eleven.
You can't hear me anymore.
I can't hear me anymore.
Lost in the maze of sharp corners,
Misspelled phrases, and flat tires.
Eat the orange smile, and slog through.
That's all I can do.

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Icon of a hand, hoding a pen, writing love, peace, and adobo grease, Guilliean

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