I'm sucking everything out of my skull
and putting it in a mason jar.
For safe keeping and for secret keeping.
I'm forcing everything I feel into a field.
A field with deer ticks and poison ivy.
And plenty of mosquitoes.
I'm pushing all of the twists and turns in my stomach
down through my legs and into my toes.
So I can do my nervous dance and never
let my heels touch the ground.
I'm filling up a baby pool with all the things I've learned.
I'll do a dead man's float and get a sunburn.
I'll peel away my flakes of skin and
overnight them to my future self.
So what if it's an ice cream fetish?
I'll relish in knowing I'm less fucked up than you.
I'm sad in an "Atkins diet is healthy" kinda way.
I'm so done that you need to quick!
take me out of the oven and carve me up for your family!
"Sorry, I think it's a little dry this year."
"Oh, no! Not at all! Did you find this glaze online?"
I can't stand being alone, which is normal.
If God is the DJ, he's not playing enough practical jokes.
Lemme set fire to your home.
Call the fuzz, I'll pick it out
my navel and run.
You'll never catch my intent
cuz it's way over the foul line
and into the nosebleeds.
It's like you took a rag,
soaked it in sorrow,
wrung it out into a bucket,
dumped that bucket
into a bathtub,
and baptized yourself.
If I could, I'd give you pretty things, like the sun & the stars.
Or flashy things, like flying race cars.
Instead I'll peel off my freckles and give 'em to you.
'Cause thats' the best of me and the best I can do.
pay no attention to god.
he is not like you & me.
(he wears his socks to bed.)
the gang's all here
come on in
take off your clothes
make a splash
create a mess
don't look back
walk on water
choke on air
grow some gills
take your thoughts
off the shelf
drown your dreams
Storm of the century.
Draped in lies & love.
Shark tank disaster.
Too old & cold for bullshit.
Flashed before me.
Rollerskates. Pardon me, "-blades."
Don't like pizza crust.
Manning up, facing demons.
Worst midnight snack ever.
means two different things.
a poor bird's stomach with rice in it.
good! That's great! I'm happy to hear that!
Like the bird.
I'm about to explode.
I'll spray the paint inside my mouth
and tag myself with my secret gang.
That song we sang and the words we wrote
are lodged in my throat.
And I hope it's not too late to rearrange
this melody so that I can change.
I'm hopelessly, incredibly,
stuck here with nowhere else to be.
You shook me up. You ran me out.
Hope your stupid plans pan out.
I'm so over art.
I'm over art for art's sake.
I'm over art for Pete's sake.
Use this poem to comb through my razor-sharp wit.
I'm an exorcist so let's skip the shit and satanic quips.
I wish I could cut to the chase and erase those demons.
Within reason, I'll do what it takes to make you a-ok. wink
Anyway, I think I'm better suited for ghost busting.
I'm too trusting to be put face-to-face with evil.
so I'll sit and I'll stare
I'll stop and I'll watch
all of the things that
my eyes cannot touch
my crutch is broken
your hands have spoken
either with or without
you still lose a token
but if joking about it
shakes the fears right out it
would you still want me?
I highly doubt it.
I'm okay with being sad sometimes.
And I'm even more okay with not drinking my coffee black.
I think I'm beginning to grow up.
burn these leaves
see what it leaves
nothing but a pile
of dead burnt leaves
born again and such a stretch
manifest and etch-a-sketch
my brain is gone, i'm not the best
carry on to ace to test
rhyming words and cracking skulls
parking lots of oily gulls
beating hearts with drumming sticks
mouthing words of stevie nix
getting old and magic wands
dumping bodies into ponds
flash, flash, the smiles of moms
making rent and dropping bombs
gravitate towards running fast
this line's a lemon, and the last
So here I am.
Sitting on my couch
and eating potato chips
and thinking about you
and what might have been.
Wallowing in self-pity
and artificial flavors
The only things comforting me
are my fast metabolism
and the hum of the air conditioning.
"Mind over matter"
only makes you fatter
if you can't see
all the bullshit
you're feeding yourself.
Man, look at 'em go.
Fast flying, like their fathers.
Fly fishing, like their fathers.
Dropping cones, scraping knees.
Crying, laughing, dirty.
Wooden block, sidewalk chalk.
Old McDonald had a farm.
Mayor Daley had a city.
A whole goddamn city.
Fire hydrants, parking meters.
Public parks, with wood chips.
Rubber wood chips.
For babies and kids and dogs.
I want to kiss your ears and bury you alive.
In dirty snow or rotting wood or something cheap.
I want you to cry and your tears will taste like carrots.
And a little bug or worm or miniature train will fluff your pillow.
She'll make you feel at home and tuck you in for me.