I love my problems 
I made them myself 
one day I’ll solve them 
I grow them instead 

my bank is on fire 
my love is dead 
piles of books teeter
only jelly in the fridge 

I’ve got these problems 
they occupy my thoughts 
I should be thankful 
for their hours of drama 

I see them in dreams 
with faces of dead lovers 
I ask them how they’ve been 
they tell me I know all about it