Being a stoner is quite divine,
For snack time’s always on my mind.
I find my couch, and there I recline,
With munchies creeping up behind.
My thoughts float free, like clouds align,
In this blissful state, I unwind.
Inhale the peace, exhale the woes,
With every puff, my worries go.
I marvel at the fridge, and I chose,
To feast on leftovers from last week’s show.
Life’s riddles solved in fragrant prose,
As I laugh at how slow the world moves, though.
When friends gather, the stories bloom,
Conversations bubbling, some may consume.
In a haze of giggles, we banish gloom,
And share our dreams like poets in a room.
No judgment here, just fun and zoom,
As we ponder if aliens use a vacuum.
The world is a canvas, and I’m an artist,
Painting thoughts that grow ever heartiest.
With vivid colors that spark the smartest,
I wonder why my socks look the harshest.
But in this moment, I feel the hardest,
To be stoned, or not, that’s the true chartist.
Oh, the joy of a sunset’s glow,
As I reach for my phone, my heart a-flow.
A playlist curated, my favorite show,
In this lifted state, time moves slow.
Every snack in sight, I fondly crow,
"Happiness comes when you let it grow!”
So here’s to the stoners, both young and old,
In laughter and clouds of silver and gold.
Embrace the magic, let it unfold,
For in every puff, a new tale is told.
Together we rise, in high vibes we hold,
As the highs of life, we graciously mold.
Hazy Humor is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
