Tennis Balls to Tentacles

Poem by Casey Yeaman

The day I got a new life, was the day I died, twice.

The neighbours I despise, because they make me despise myself.

The morning comes, I awake to laughter, and crying.

The road to work, lined with false ambition.

 

I’m ready, promotion.

 

The bubbles, robbing me of my earnings, breath and soul.

The Krusty Krab, more like the Briny Bubble.

The sponge, no better off, but he is happy.

 

Technique

 

The pineapple, why does it not rot?

The starfish, lets no rock crush his spirits.

The joviality, what do they have that I do not?

 

It is more than just a piece of paper, or a cardboard box.

Imagination, can I use it as well?

 

They come, into my house.

They show up, in my bed.

They ask me, if I’m ready.

 

I must have finally reached, Bikini Bottom.

Life, just a bucket of pencil shavings.

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