
That I can be called
Not funny
Too serious
Too sad
And still hysterical
When I make you laugh
I’m not hysterical?
Or is that when
you laugh at me
Get a thicker skin
Toughen up
Have I tried this
meat tenderizer?
It’s sharp and shiny
I bet I’d love it
I bet I could make it
Work and still
save my skin
What if I couldn’t even
get that right?
That would be hysterical.
Just a riot
A fight
a shelf to stack
the rage on
because it’s to
heavy to hold
for a lifetime
But easy reach
for when I need to
start throwing
Fits
Most things don’t
and even fewer people do
Don’t blame the jeans
It’s my ass
Or maybe my
wandering uterus is
taking up space where it
ought not to
take that out
before it does any more
damage
Blood and pain
from no source
Wouldn’t that be hysterical?