Inside this plastic orifice pulsates the vibrations of flies
Around the frontal lobe of the brain,
A honking trumpet of confusion and
Fake self-confidence,
            With that fake eyebrow raise of condescending question.
A drunk woman’s loop just spilling insecurities.
I remember when I was 18 years old
and so much more sure of myself
than I am now.
Now, my questioning analysis turns to stammering cindersm
My voice to quivering gibberish,
My spine to a trembling cane.
This is the age we were worried about,
Shaking coats off to try on new ones.
To be fearless again, a ****-talking hardass
With no reason to five a ****, no reason
To be ashamed of words I spit, the norms
I shatter, the growing genuine demeanor
I cherish.
My words leak off the page and down
The spinal column of answers,
Stacked and jacked for another gear change.
Green lime crime in a gray lipsticked
Lip-lock torn asunder in cheap talk.
I’ll stop apologizing for nature’s wrongs.
I’ll forsake the jumbled up mumbled mess
            That drooled down the spider fingers of
            Those lonely, lost days.
And for a coin, I’ll stake my life
On the candle that refused to burn
Because now the reason crests the waves of
Pedantic experience.
Made past the overly-viewed statistics.
The curves now drip away the
            Remnants of fabricated wool
            Into a bed of once exhausted syllables
            And frequented sobs.
Without a known ending, I’ll know this much:
            The insecurities are a bottomless chalice
            Full of the Catholic’s guilt
And the people you see around you
            Are warriors bred without Fathers.
Streamlined sick in a wonderbread coffeehouse,
These are the hours worth reckoning.