I want to be your abacus baby,Oh you can count on me.
I wont say that i love you, or i heart you, I less than 3 you.
Your molecules must be moving fast,girl. Cause your really hot.
Are you igneous sedimentary or metamorphic? All i know is baby you rock.
And if god existed I'd thank him for you, but I'm rational and read a lot of Sam Harris.
Your beautiful like the font garamad,but i want to see you sandarac, take your pants off.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me,
And i observe your quirks oscillating, and I'm formulating, a g-string theory..
Like an archeologist,I'm gonna try and compute your age. cause i really want to date you.
You make me feel like a male giraffe. I want to nudge your **** and make you urinate,and mate you.
Scientific fact,thats what they do.
The value of my love for you cannot be expressed exactly. More rational then Pi.
Hey "****" is a legitimate word in scrabble, just FYI
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me.
You can **** me into your super massive black hole, the center of your galaxy. Im talkin ******.
I may not be the strongest or the prettiest, but my knowledge of grammar shines.
I know how to use the words  further and farther..correctly. Every fricken time.
Example:farther indicates physical distance
and further a depth or degree
example: the moon is getting farther from the earth
about 4 centimeters annually. Fun factoid,take it home with ya.
You just keep getting further into my heart.
You just keep getting farther into my heart.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me,and if the situation is ambiguous, further and farther can be used interchangeably. Just a fun factoid.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me.
Baby i less than 3 you.
So please take off your pants.

It's that time of the Patriot's year
Postseason playoff games are in full gear
The road to the Superbowl, I cheer
But not for the big, bad grissly bear
That takes every opponent's fate without fear
That's right the big bad bear without peer
I'm snickering the Patriot's to cry a tear
Nothing would make me so happier, I swear
Fricken, dicken, bitchen Patriots beware
To see another Bostonian tea party, I glare
I do show respect at the Patriot's lair
Brady and Belicheck what a podded pair
Steady, stoic and simulcast, condescending I declare
You see a Patriots playoff loss is so rare
Their team profile is beyond compare
A well oiled machine that wear
Goliath close over David with regular fare
The road to this year's Superbowl Sunday, I say a prayer
That the other teams flag is flying patriotically in the air

Logan Robertson

1/11/2019

Tell me.
Tell me what amazing thing I'm doing right now.
I'm going through the fricken motions of next to every 16 year old girl.
I have done nothing spectacular.
I haven't changed anything.
Had I not been born others' lives would be minimally altered.
Why am I not doing anything?
Nothing. I'm doing nothing for anyone or anything.
I'm making no impression and that makes me angry.

You did inquire why all of my poetry is depressing, or morbid... or sarcastic.

I wish I was ~positively~ poetic, but my positive feelings channeled through prose!
I have some neat journal pages... inspiring or thoughtful
-I guess...

But when I look back at the days of pages I wrote in my paranoia or depression.. spite... it's just really horrible! It don't like remembering how sick I  got myself over things. And I've always admired poetry.. and I remember the first poems I read from you were more morbid and dark. So I followed suit.... and I like looking back at these poems, more artfully worded and less angst ridden... much more than those journal pages.

I have been inspired to write more light hearted poems that are NOT sarcastic, but those are all drafts and I just don't know how to do about things and they just sit there and never get finished. No, those poems about friends leaving me behind, school being really fricken freezing, and mom sounded like a raspy parrot are the only ones that seem to get finished.

I'll work on putting something light together for you... rather or not it gets finished it up in the air though haha. I love you a lot!

xoxo

Nothing is certain anymore.
I used to know: I miss knowing.
I had decided he was the one.
Forever. For ever. Everlong. Everlast.
But it wasn’t everlasting.
And now?
I’ve lost the partner to my dream.

Begin again. Start once more. All over.
New introductions: new dynamics
It’s all different.
Unsettling.
Exciting – I’m thrown off balance.
Soo much to learn.
What’s beneath the ripply surface?
Open up, prise to sunlight; I must see.
Figure: are you the new ‘one’?

A replacement?
A new dream. A new adventure.
A thousand ways to see the world.
Perspective dominates so much.
I think we come from similar mind
- But unless you speak I cannot be certain.
“What’re you thinking?”
“Mmm… I don’t know”
It’s a gap
Between thought and mouth
- I’ve been there, I’ve felt it.
We need to build a bridge.

‘Put your trust in me, I’m not gonna die alone’
I don’t want to. Not alone.
I need someone to accompany me.
I want a family.
Who?
It feels like time to settle in.
Who?
I’m tired of this game
This uncertainty
Either let me be alone
- Impossible for me, I know:
I ***** too much up when I’m single.
Yet there should be growth there.
- Then let me be with the one.

I know there is no perfection.
But imperfections may compliment.
I know it takes work.
Communication.
Sacrifice.
Energy.
Time.
I know difference must be respected.
I know connection is of most importance
- Or perhaps a close second to support.
And love.

But love grows.
Even arranged marriages fall into love.
Why not choose?
The one with the traits
The dynamic that is desired
Love will come
It always does in the end
So long as resentment does not dominate
The dynamic is soo important!
And the lifestyle
- What am I willing to give up?
What does he desire?  

I’m over this dizzying romance game.
I’m throwing the towel in.
If not him, then someone else close by.
Because I’ve always had too many options.
And before that made me scared:
Given urge to ‘play the field’
Taste all within range.

Now, now, I am tired.
It’s nice to know someone’s intimacy
Exploring beneath the cloak:
Let me in, let me in, let me in.
I know it takes time
Let me in, let me in, let me in.
But trust me. Please?
Let me in, let me in, let me in.
Coz ******! I’m letting you in.
And ******! I want to show you my world.
And to see yours.
And when we escape this place,
Maybe just for a day or two,
But when we do,
It’s fricken beautiful
And we’re beautiful
And I know that.

Please. I want to fall into love.
Why not with him?

This is not a rhyme
this is not a poem
there is no hidden messages between ambiguous word
or conveyed through complex metaphors
this is the tears of my heart
bleeding
fuelling me
so that I can find the courage to speak
to speak the words of my soul
the words I've been dying to say
... no
to scream!!!
The words I've been dying to shout out
as a proclamation to the whole world...

I DON'T LOVE YOU
I DON'T because I don't know what love is
but I do know you make me wonder
you make me philosophize about it
about what it feels like
I DON'T know what love is...
but you make me feel
something that must be close to it
...
if not better

I think about you ALL the time...
there is not a moment that passes where I don't think of you...
not a single message from you at which I don't smile
not a single night where I hate the dawn of sleep, because it means goodbye
ALL OF MY FRICKEN POEMS ARE ABOUT YOU

last night when you were here...
in the three seconds that we kissed
in those mere blinks of an eye
when our lips softly brushed
... I was paralysed
... It was the first time in my life where my mind was COMPLETELY quiet
the first time I didn't instruct myself through a kiss
and just let go...

now your scent is stuck to me...
I smell it all the time
the smell is intoxicating
and I think of you with every breath I take
unwillingly falling further and further into your arms...

and so I call you...
just to hear your voice...
just to hear you laugh at what I say...
because hearing your voice makes my day...
the sound of your laughter...
it's a toe curling
goosebump-giving
heart-wrenching
pulse-rising
start-smiling
start-crying
but never nail baiting...
because I know you hate that
... sort of sound.

and I envy the guy who is lucky enough to have you
I envy him with all my heart.
I have a bitterness towards him compared by only few...
and a sadness towards you compared to no other greatness...

why can't you see
that his love for you is not...
nor will it ever be...
the same as my NOT-LOVE for you

can't you see he doesn't give you the romance and the happiness you deserve
the laughter and the acceptance and the complete free will...

can't you see that I adore you
... so much so that I have turned into this monster who envies...
one who feels bitter towards someone he has never met!!!

I am lost without you...
I want you...
I need you...
I want to need you...
I Better-than-love you
I xoxo you and mwa you
forever and continuous
(not-)love (- but better)
me...

I can't dream if it's from this closet
Every thing I want to do just sounds so ******* pompous
I talk about what I want to do and everybody thinks I've lost it
I'm on the radar, but I'm the darkest blip
Walking the plank on purpose, S.S. *******, I'm off this ship

I feel like I've finally got it, and of course then I've lost it
I write a masterpiece, "hey where's the follow up?"
Like me and my girl jinxin the future with a prenup
'Oh you know we just trying to be safe,' right *****, let's marry up this **** then
You can take it all just split them assets
Get me bent with no price or rent

See I ain't tryna get around just tryna win this
Can't seem to get to the top when I'm the only one in the bracket
Try to be a team player, but my teams full of *******
I'm Harry Potter *****, imma smash that *** like quidditch
I gonna hit that pinata, till the cash flow get me riches

I talk ***** but I miss the way you talk
British, you a fit birdy, girl
I eat my grits, but I ain't really eating till after we're flirty, girl

Take you to the back room, pour some wine and then some feelings, watch some mad men and tell you bout my last girl
I said I like the way you talk to me but I think I just like how I can talk to you
You're an outlet, and I'm plugging, your sticking around, but you should know I'm just thuggin
And maybe I just say the ***** things I say to mask my potential under promiscuity cause I got a real problem promising myself I'll solve my problems too
(I'd never admit it though)

See that's just something me and my crew do
I guess it masks all the little ***** blues 'fake cries'
During this poem I think I grew three inches for you  
In my heart
See it's so easy to gravitate to you like your the sun and I'm Mercury, I'm too close and you're burning me alive, but I can't pull myself apart, girl it'll never work
We can't stop Miley, that's melancholy for sure (but keep the twerk)

You make me feel like Frank Sinatra, and I can't even sing
So **** confident, you let me discover myself, I'm deep, I can feel, I'm Mike Tyson, Kung Pao chicken, I bring it all to the ring
All these little kids on the streets learning how to *** from me 'like fricken'
The thought of you got me sick to the stomach, it's sticking
..
Too bad you're just a ******* fling

This morning I told myself,
I will write a poem today,
But I ended up just hanging out,
With my friend named procrastinate.

8:30am
I was awakened,
Rolled over and saw my notes,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

10:00am
Lounging around,
It’s my lazy day,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

11:30am
Just finished showering,
Poetic thoughts ran through my mind,
While the water ran through my hair,
But now that I’m out,
I’m busy,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

12:30pm
My dad made me listen,
To a sermon with him,
I almost wanted to write a poem,
But I was preoccupied with Dr. Thompson,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

1:45pm
Money feels good in my hands,
But first I gotta do all this addition,
Time cards ****,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

3:00pm
I haven’t eaten anything today,
I’m starving,
Maybe because my refrigerator is empty,
I haven’t gone shopping in four weeks,
I should pay the grocery store a visit,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

5:45pm
Tacos sound good,
I have no clue how to make them,
But I guess I’ll give it a shot,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

6:45pm
Dang, that tasted awesome,
I should probably make something
Gross so I don’t let these cooking skills
Get to my head,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

7:00pm
It feels so good to sit down,
My new favorite show, Falling skies,
Is awaiting me on amazon prime,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

11:00pm
Four episodes in,
I’m officially addicted,
But I’ll let my brother use the TV now,
While I pass out on the couch,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

11:15pm
Crap…
I was gonna write a poem today,
What the heck am I supposed to write about?
Nothing serious is on my mind,
Depression, abuse, peace and war?
The only peace I’m thinking about is sleep,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

11:17pm
I guess I’ll let my eyes open,
It might be time to write a poem,
Not sure what to write about,
I could write about writing a poem or whatever,
Poetry,
Yeah, maybe now.

11:30pm
I’m done,
Here’s your fricken poem, Matthew,
Can I go to bed now?

THE SUN USE TO BURN BRIGHT
SEEPING IN ITS GLORIOUS LIGHT
SHINING ALL DAY LONG
HUMMING IT'S BEAUTIFUL MORNING SONG

BUT THEN ONE DAY
THE SUN DECIDED TO STAY AWAY
THE DARK AND GLOOM
FILLING THE NOW EMPTY ROOM

MY SADNESS SHOWED UP THEN
AND CONTINUING TO COME BACK AGAIN
I MISSED MY SUN
WISHING FOR HAPPINESS OR FUN

MY HEART WHEN SAD
AND NOW I FEEL REALLY FRICKEN' BAD...

Born to death, left in dread, not knowing if I'm alive or dead. Born with no bed to call my home, I was too busy struggling for my life in the ER room. That was just my beginnings, death wanted me bad, but don't worry I make it through it knowing life won't all be full of dread. Grew up with parents not being together, getting bullied at school, sometimes I just wish I got buried in some tomb. I used to look at life so positively, but with so much crap coming at me, Doctor Phil could easily write my own biography. Then junior high came, and that was a whole other thing entirely.  Man, I wish kids could just get home schooled those years, because then I may not have needed that psychiatry. Then finally high school came and prepared to my past experiences was so heavenly. Before school was like the hunger games, survival of the fittest was my only option. Sometimes I still find myself in survival mode, I'm scared that if I say do something wrong the past will strike back at me. So I just stay quiet like a monk, but **** me off I turn into the hulk or some volcano eruption. Wondering why life ******* me over, why people have to be cruel, finding out it doesn't get better as I get older, just wanting to finally be me in this supposed " land of the free." What I’ve realized is; that this country is a monotonous hellhole, home of people who pretend to be nice, because as it's all about our image. This is reality so I’ll just pretend that everything is right with the world, not looking at all the problems and crap not who I am supposed to be; which is me? I'm sorry that ain't me, I’m just so fricken tired of being herded by society like I'm some moronic sheep; conquered by the white privileged. Well baa baa black, brown, yellow, and red sheep have you any wool? No sir no sir it was all taken by the white sheep, why don't you ask them for some? Reality is the whites control everything no one can touch them without paying with your life, hope this truth open the eyes of those who are non-visual because it’s time to stop acting like ignorant fools. We need true equality, we need true freedom, we need change otherwise we stay oblivious to facts which is dumb, which we need to stay away from! This world is full off suppressive segregation, everything must be taken, ignore the horrifying facts of the past but rather let’s look towards the future. Well I would like to but the fact is we can’t because there will always be racism and violence, it’s has been put into our genetic tract since the beginning of time. Since we ate that forbidden fruit, since Kane killed his brother Abel, ******* to this barbaric nature to engrain it’s disease into our brains like a tumor. I guess it’s just human nature to be horrible killers looking for anything that can fill us for some sort of enjoyment like some kind of disturbing nursery rhyme.

I wish I could just pick up the phone and text you now and again,
call you even just maybe once in a while.
Instead of just seeing your face from a distance again and again, or hearing little specks of your voice talking to someone else.

It’s ****. I feel ****.
Hearing the stories with your name written in them make me feel useless, like I’m just there, far away into the background that I’m not even a character.

The words you say, I see on someone else’s screen, and my name mentioned once and never again. Why do I feel this way so strongly, so depressing, and yet... so used to the treatment.

By family and friends, my own fricken mates don’t acknowledge my existence when they make those plans for the weekend, my parents not knowing who I am because I’m not noticeable like the others

I wish I wasn’t this way. This way that I am used to being, this way I am used to feeling. Like ****, every-*******-day

Do I mean anything to those around me truly?! Deep down maybe but not straight away, and thats a selfish remark for me to make and I shouldn’t even think of saying such a thing, but I just did, and I’m not erasing it from the screen.

Deep down I’m still hurting but no one see’s because I hide it behind, laughter, sarcasm and dark humour to shield my walls that I let fall. Deep down I just want to be held again, in arms that make me feel safe, to be kissed in a way that makes me feel special, and have my hands played with and my skin traced just because.

But I’m too quiet to ask for help.

It's your voice,
or maybe your hair,
or possibly the way,
you wear boxers for underwear.
It could be your name,
first and last,
or the tingles I get when,
you say you want to smash.
Another thing it could be,
is how I imagine kissing you.
Or how you say, “I love you,”
and we both know I love you too.
Maybe it's the thought of
you being mine,
or how, when you come home,
we can kiss all the time.
I love your good morning/goodnight texts,
The reason could be those.
Or maybe your sweetness, your intelligence,
your music taste or your stubbornness, maybe so.
Yes, your stubbornness,
sometimes it's cute, I'll admit.
Or when you deliberately try to
get my ******* wet and just won't quit.
I like when you talk all the ***** to me,
**** it gets me going.
You're fine as ****,
that gets me going.
I love b$ + qtsp = <3,
I'm not trying to be cheesy,
I try to avoid cliches,
but baby, you got my heart beating.
I love your beautiful poetry,
especially when it's about me.
You can't address envelopes correctly,
but that's okay because you're thuggy b.
Maybe it's the snapchats you send me,
or your handwriting,
or just you period.
I know you got me sighing
when I think about how it'll be
when you're finally home
where you belong
and I can give you all the dome.
I really like when you say
you're in love with me,
I could listen to it everyday.
I want to be in love with you too.
I love how we constantly talk,
so maybe that's the reason I would walk,
the 1,076 miles to be with you,
except I have college and school.
****, I can't think of anything but you.
Your cat drawings may be a reason.
Or maybe it's the summer season.
I like when you text me after not talking in awhile,
and how you fricken always make me smile.
All the letters you send make me happy,
and how good you are to me.
I love your freaking eyes,
and your mind.
The way you say “baby” or
say my name
makes me happier than
I have ever been.
I also like the feelings I get when I
read your letters,
if I'm ever sad,
I reread them to feel better.
Even if it sounds tedious,
I love how you stalk my tweets,
and when you text me kissy faces,
and when I can hear in your voice that you're getting sleepy.
And I ******* loved the night
you fell asleep with me on the phone
while I told you all the pretty things,
made me feel like you were kind of home,
you were falling asleep next to me,
and I could kiss your eyelids,
and watch you sleep so peacefully,
but it made me want you with me.
Those are the reasons I love you

"I am one tiny fish
in this giant pond-the ocean"
Oscar from Shark Tale

The world is huge if you think about it
I am one person among about 6,893,300,000 other people
How can I be heard?
What do I have to do to be noticed?

I want to make a difference
but there is so many fricken people
I HAVE to get their attention
I HAVE to help them out

But I am like a tiny fish in this HUGE pond
I've got to swim to the top.

I felt so sad as I took a jar of paper stars from the top shelf of my school locker and held it close to my chest as I walked down the halls and I knew you were watching... Arden.

You just didn't do anything.

You knew what it was like to cling to life the same way you hung from death, like it was some kind of sick game. However, this is not a one player kind of match now, is it?

I powerwalked through the halls once, wanting so much to die. I had no plans, just a few ideas. You know, I didn't consider hanging myself in my mind to be a "plan to die" because I didn't actually write out the plans, I just thought about them a little too much.

I answered "No." when asked if I made plans to **** myself, because in my mind, I really didn't make plans.


When asked if I was homicidal, I don't remember what I said, but I remember not saying "no". I remember that I've imagined punishing people, but never killing people. I want to hold their lives in my grasp and hear them apologize like they actually mean it.

But I am too nice for that. Too Christian for that.

It takes a strong person to lift weights, but a stronger one to lift the personal weight off your own back.

I've thought about retiring my poetry career 10 years too early, not even making it to my mid-twenties before quitting simply because there were too many people too eager to get offended at my work.

I will not play innocent to your sickly made games.

I am no fool.

Although, I will not retire my poetry career just yet. Because every time I feel the urge to quit, I am here at 3:22am writing long strings of poetry.

Arden's gonna have a fricken sleeve of tattoos.
Alex is gonna have pain.
Baer is gonna have me taking care of her sister.

But who really cares about that? Because Arden's gonna have something.

Arden has friends,

education,
teachers,
a job,
a life.

Arden's gonna have love.

Arden's gonna have ******' love.


Alex is not going to beg for my jaw unhinged from all the fighting.
Alex will not bend.
No sir.


Baer has hired me as the worlds worst babysitter, and her sister, only a few years younger than I already holds me to a higher standard than most.

But Arden has more to life than me.

There's no comparison.

I too, want to die when I'm not staying up this late to escape my thanatophobia.

I will not live to see Arden's graduation.

But I will live to see the hurricane that comes after it.

I don't feel special Baer.

But no one really needs to know that.

I cannot stop crying to say my life.

It's like it's on a schedule.
Crying in school, after school, in my car, at home, to my parents, to my teachers, to no one at all. For sometimes... hours.

I have officially become so broken that I've become pathetic. So I don't know. I'm a wreck. I cannot even think about this without hating myself, and I can't talk about it without crying.

I'm a broken fricken record about this story. Saying it over and over.

Apologizing over, and over, and OVER.

I am so sick of it. I do not want this, but I can't escape it. As much as I may want to, I can't. It is so easy to write about the bad.

I can't remember one good thing last said by someone important.
But I have a million good things to say about them. I always will.

And you're the one who's sorry?
Not as sorry as I am.

I don't want to be told to "get over it" as if it was ever that easy.

And I hate this. I really do. There is nothing left here. So I guess you were right about me being nothing more than my mistakes. I hope you take pride in being right. Because I am barely hanging on.

And you decided to walk away.

That's okay.

After all, this is the real me right? I've secretly always been this monster. I'm nothing more than you say.

So tell me what I am.

Dear friend I wish to speak
of memories of which I keep.
Both in my heart and in my soul
You know that heart? The one you stole?

I treasure all them days we had
to see you leave it made me sad.
But when we do talk on the phone
I feel less, and less alone.

You made me climb out of my shell
you helped me rid a living hell.
Not sure if you knew but I lived in the rain
until one day like an angel you came.

I'd met someone different
someone like me.
I use to get bullied
for who I wanted to be.
So I kept it all quiet because I cared what they said
but after a while I put those thoughts to bed.

And now that you're gone it's just like the past
I sit, my head down, at the back of the class.
But I learnt so much stuff that will always remain
and i'm sure that one day it will come back again.

So I write you this poem, a letter from me
to thank you for setting me eternaly free.
And although you live far our now friendship won't end
I'm so fricken greatful that you're my best-friend!<3

Totally girlfriend...
My life is nothing but a spin...
A freskin whirl wind...
With a wind try na break down my fricken bricks g....
I mean and it truly has...
My wall is not perfect...
It's got holes and tough edges...and for a while I have and ma in denial of my marks
,my scars....
But without those mistakes...where is there room to truly grow...
You see each and every wound is a piece of me being destroyed...
But it is a wound right...it heals
...and Imperfctness is perfect
Because my Lord still loves me and doesn't expect that of me or any of us
...therefore I will accept my holes n flaws

Baddie brains blown out hick-up pick up picky pick up lines hirried stubbling drained from the gum. Yes tis gum from the stuomuch that you swallowed for month because I just loved the way you ***** ***. I'm sick.
I puked.
I puked?
I started runnning the walts of Conan the quenched dominator beefing with minny mouse for spanking mickey. He sipps mickeys just so you know I'm holy dust, sike. I wish I washed my mouth month before I ate the groomed flappy fingered fizzathered lips of Haley Jade. I wish I had a ******. ****. Nut after nut and after this nut  another nut and a nut a then the knux cause she got the **** crumbling runs rinse me in Faygo cause these Jugglalos have hair I love to get the stow in jars from a far, because I farted. Beanie I ******* farting who started this ******* fricken flame flare Jack Keoroac couldn't spit enough spirts to-at-alley trickling pink pavement funds that freed Zepplin.

You make me feel sad.

To the point where I'm only getting mad.

But you seem so glad

And don't feel bad

Not even a fricken tad.

Pooh bears ***-cheecks are clogged and he's looking for honey. It's otay, lemonglade. I ice skatelike diamond rangs and live with tigger and he freaks me fruit. It's otay, I'm geeky and love Pokemon and Yu-gi-oh pour my Po Bo I'm fricken Asian hi. I like the way your a dumb ****. This is garage band garbage I push through my viens in this cage  I waste for Jake when he aims to be tied-up. I wonder why Pooh smells like ****. For fruitful 21Savage ***** **** like other Ellen fans. It's otay, I got charmon for me ***** till. I paid from my left pocket the right one hanging, chicken wings falling from the right ai-ight. Out of sike.

I don’t actually know what I am typing
This is going to be like one of those sentences that you start
But don’t know where it’s going so you just keep talking

I am happy
Happier than I have been in so long
For a really long time
I thought God was against me
I didn’t know if I should put my faith in him or not
It’s actually called agnosticism
But I felt as if I had done something really bad when I was young
Because God kept throwing punches
And then he gave me some happy back
But then he took it away
And then he gave it back

I don’t know
It’s confuzzling
Yes i just used that word
I’m one of those people
I use fantabulous as an actual adjective
And I add -ly to any verb to make it an adjective
Yes, in case you were wondering
I’m pretty sure I’m crazy
But besides the point
I am happy

I’m not sure if anyone is reading this far in
This is pretty long anyway
And basically I’m just ranting

I have some major mental problems
If y’all have read any of my other poems you would know that there are a lot of things that ripped my heart out
And yes, I am also one of those people that uses the word y’all
I have anxiety, worried about everything and I get anxiety attacks at a good chunk of the football games I go to
I have depression, or some sort of mood swingy thing goin’ on there
I don’t really know
I’m just really sad all the time
There’s a lot more, but those are the most demanding of them all
It kinda makes life unbearable
But I live

Oh, oh, oh!
I just came up with what to call this piece
The Dumpster Fire Rant
Yeah
That’s my mom’s favorite saying
Or at least a close second to ‘do you want to be sent to live with your dad’
But the point is
I don’t know what the heck in huckleberry heck I’m talking about
Again, yes, I am that kind of person to say that
I’m basically just ranting here
Ranting about my major dumpster fire of a comedic life
And no one has probably even reached this far in the poem
Because it’s too long
And it’s basically me being a major dork
But I don’t care

I get made fun of quite a bit
I’m a nerd
And I’m considered smart, even though I’m pretty stupid in my opinion
I sing
To be exact, I sing and dance
At the same time
It’s called show choir
And no I’m not queer in any way, shape, or form
...well…
Nope.
That’s not a question I feel like talking about
If I answer what I am
I get scared and run in the opposite direction
Even if it’s something I can’t change
So I rather not think about the possibilities
I am the girl who stands in front of the mirror each day
And decides I am pretty
Only to be told by everyone
Including my family and closest friends
That I am ugly
Even if they don’t say it directly
They make the slightest comment
And I feel like I was shot

I am also the girl who reads at lunch while listening to Frank Turner
The artist who no one I know knows
I am the one who says the darndest things
Like fudge buckets, or shiitake mushrooms on a swiss burger on a Wednesday afternoon
And I say croutons like crouwtons, and tells autocorrect to shove off when it tells me that’s wrong
I am the one who eats mac and cheese with ketchup and ranch
And I am the one who drinks orange juice with my spaghetti
I get it
I am weird
And I am a target
And I practically am asking for it
But I can’t explain it
That’s just the way I am

I am pretty fricken sure that no one is still reading this

Sometimes
I just need a good rant
And I only know you virtually
So you are my therapist
Except with less awkward silence and the weird fact that you’re being evaluated by another person
And can practically see their thoughts behind their eyes
Or is that just me?
Anyway
You didn’t have to say anything
Or even read the whole thing
Or any of it at all
But it’s out there
My rant is out there
My dumpster fire is burning bright
And it is out there
So thank you virtual therapists who I don’t know and probably haven’t even read this far in.
Thank you.