The Jar

I just ate a half a jar of peanut-butter.

Premium health food peanut-butter,

at $6.95 a jar.

It took maybe,

25 spoonfuls,

to get it all out.

That's like,

$0.12

every time my grubby spoon,

left my lips

and reentered the brown gooey cavern,

of that 250ml jar.

I eat like this when I can't sleep.

I can't sleep when I am anxious.

I eat when I'm anxious,

I think it calms me.

Except this morning,

that waded through the night,

with me on it's back.

This morning can go fuck itself.

For showing up so soon.

I go for long stretches.

without doing it.

But inevitably,
I break

out of frustration,

or boredom

or fear,

or maybe all of the above.

That's ok,

like everything else,

it's not something I can't recover from.

Professional sufferer.

Professional recoverist.

I should write a book.

Instead of these stupid poems.

Something,
 that might really help someone.

Suffering with the privilege 
of too much

and simultaneously
too little to do,

and all the time in the world

in which to do it,

or not.

I don't know why,
 I try so hard,

my imperfection always catches up with me,

regardless,

at the bottom of the jar.