that was no good reason if you ask me

I said,
“I hope it doesn’t work out.”
Because I couldn’t understand
why in the world anyone would
chase crazy guised as
seemingly stable
just a few years after
what we call
a second childhood
because let’s face it.
We are all babies.
Crying over
spilled Smirnoff
after another awkward interview —
I couldn’t tell you
how many awkward stumbles
I have made while talking
to that barista babe.
We all swear that we
have it made,
but in actuality
we just learn to fake
so well.
So long to that
half million
that student loans
barely cut into.
Are you learning
or are you yearning?
They go hand in hand,
don’t they?
Don’t they take your hand
and throw you off
the deep end
without a life jacket,
expecting you to swim
as you sputter
words of anointment.
I hope it doesn’t work out.
Because life is a reason
that none of us wants to hear.
Making it is fine.
Hell,
making it is greater
than great.
We’re all at that point,
aren’t we.
A point of unhappy
and grasping at empty skies
as we walk
into trap holes,
even rabbit holes.
I hope it works out
because how could I ever
be crazy enough to tell you
I hope it doesn’t.

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