The Machiavelli in Me (A Poem in Progress)

Dear Diary… It’s just me
back again for some conspiring.
Sorry for slash and burning so often,
Some versions are better left between you and me…

This stage has me rearing for the next page,
A brand new phase to turn in through.
The sands digging in have been a perfect irritation.
Ready for some Mother of Pearl irrigation,
Please pour through and tend to the area surrounding…
Color me reflective and render the outcome priceless to me.

And I’m sorry in advance for the weight on this pen.
It’s really pouring out on this end…
These Jays are mocking again,
and I know I shouldn’t find it shocking.
But the bobbleheads won’t stop talking.

I’m trying my best and stumbling, yes.
These Hyenas aren’t making it any easier for me.
Not the greatest company
when the journey has you crawling on hands and knees,
it’s hard not to take their laughing personally.

I know, I know
this is where you tell me something witty like;
just let it be while you ride on by…
make sure you aren’t just talking
to fill in the blanks
sometimes it’s you who stinks.
It’s true, it’s true.

or maybe you’d finish with something like;
stop getting hung up in traffic
that’s why you have these wings.
Act a fool just to blend in if you have to,
But if while you’re playacting,
you forget you were pretending,
that’s on you…