Autobiographical Little Grill Sun Poem

A poem about beauty autobiographical

Hi there beautiful everyone!
I'm just a miner, only five years old,
look at my cart full of diamonds.
I lug it around from town to town.
I go down to Santa Fe even.
And everywhere I go--I get mugged.

My diamonds are for free
they're for all to share
there's no need to knife me in the face.

And you might think it's hard
pulling these diamonds
and only finding greed and disdain
but my friend is the Sun
and he looks down and says,
"All those guys are just a bunch of bulletheads!
You're a star, my boy.
And for all they take
you can give more
so let them fill their pockets
and drag around in their heavy pants
and you'll be light and free
because they can't take your beauty
and the thing that makes you shine.
And it can't weigh you down,
my little chicken pot pie.
Trust me, I'm the sun!"

And yes, I have the cholera
and am slowly diarrhea-ing my self to death
and the birds have grown self-aware and have already conquered the Midwest
but me and this cart full of diamonds

and this tattoo of a plate of pancakes

and this old, old, old, old, old, decrepit general of the Mexican American War

are going to traverse this great land until all the piles of beauty inside us are exhausted
and we can deposit no more
and we will lay down our heads and dream of flamingoes.
pink birds.
ridiculous.

________________________________

Read this at the open mic!

Since I was a little late, today will be a double post day!

My hand veins look ridiculous right now.