can’t knock knock the hustle
Dear Jesus, thanks for the memories
there’s a place for fun in your life
it’s the Mall of America
you can ralph on a rollercoaster
and commit to the bit with a Gucci gift
that could be us but you play too much online poker
and anyways I’m doing 5 to life in horny jail
thank god my thoughts are still private
if a serial killer asked me if I wanted to play a game
I might be like kinda?
that’s why I don’t go to Milwaukee anymore
every night I pray
Dear Jesus, thanks for the memories
he gives me a thumbs up but doesn’t text back
god never gives us anything
more trivial than we can tolerate
I’m the last one laughing at the jokes I’m cracking
the rest of the girlies lol-ed too hard and a baby popped out
meanwhile I’m still out here
banging heaters and roasting fools
sitting on amps
and enduring
nowadays, me and the devil
work it out in therapy
Stephanie is a psychologist, academic, and writer. Her creative work has appeared in Spare Parts Lit, Breakfast...?, Plainsongs Poetry Journal, and other fine literary outlets.
