Funnel Cakes

​Once the subject of best-selling stories and songs and soliloquies
have I delayered into funnel
cakes on your face like a haphazard makeup job
and yet I smile when the onion layers,
settings in rings, looking like basketballs,
give me permission to scrutinize, but is it
liberating, or scientific?

I speak the word with such disgust but it
is an inevitable piece of my nature,
whispering to me that only the fittest will survive
because Darwin told me it was natural

Swish, swish,
here goes nothing. But oh! Mind leaping from its seat
like a zealous child
(there is potential here)
and though my cards my fingers grip near,
tell me everything and nothing and
do everything and nothing and
charm the Ego needing nourishment

Oh what fun,
rewatching my own reruns
and restudying my own refunds
and telling myself I'm gripping the joystick
and Kirk is letting me drive
and I am the captain of my own mind
and yet here I lie, unable to unwind

I want to know -
"Is it beautiful/exciting/humble/impressive/relatable/babyface/vixen/"
...what did they say we should be?
Eh, forgotten in the threads.

No, no. Reassure thyself and keep on
waltzing down your own yellow brick road,
and with that dog in your basket, keep picturing
10s across the board
(was that okay?)