I want to write a poem.
No, like I really really really wanna write a poem.
Problem, stick it to me.
Pause
Poems have to be good.
Okay, so a poem doesn't have to be good
However, the point of the art is to have someone read
Those flippy little words that you pulled out
Of some intangible existence and pasted on
The Internet.

The Internet,
So you don't always put it online but,
Other people are "supposed" to read it.
To enjoy it, give you a pat on the back,
Maybe an "I see what you did there".
So poems are supposed to be presentable.
You've got to pay in sweat and ink but,
At least the words themselves are free.

What if I don't wanna have to make a "good" poem?
Okay so I really do want a pat on the back but
Sometimes I really like pasting things from
Intangible existences.
Fancy words right? Let me pat my own back.
Sometimes I just like putting my emotions on paper
While sounding like I read
More dictionaries than Webster.
Ha, ha, sigh.

There's a problem with having to be inspired to write **** down.
Do you think someone pays Taylor Swift's boyfriends
To break up with her
So she can write the
Next big hit?
I wouldn't doubt it.
My guardian angel should make the people around me
Say weird stuff such that I can write about
Walking on waves of shattered glass
Or
Singing of birds in circled flight.
Maybe I'd be better off being hit by a car.
That'd be some pretty touching poetry.

Some people write happy poetry too,
I don't know how they do it.
Sorry but, my world isn't flowers and  butterflies
Enough to warrant discussion of
Staying in the fairy meadow of light.
Sorry, I'm just jealous.

Maybe I just like writing stuff down?
What if I just don't want to be forgotten?
Leaving a legacy in my words more indellible
Than a pat on the back.
Doubt it.

I just don't want to forget.
Brain, why don't you get it?
I'm sitting here getting all intimate with an idea and
The next morning Brain's got no clue what their name is.
Like really, even if we invite a friend over and get creative with
Our tongues and mouths,
Brain doesn't remember the moments shared between us.
Paper doesn't think very well but it's got a decent memory bank.
So I save up for a brand new poem.
I thought words were free.

Cut the date
into my chest.
over my heart
with your knife.
it's the day you
made love to me.
for the very first time.
I want to be scarred
with it for life.

You let a poet fall in love with you?
And you have fallen for him as well?
Do you want your name to be imprinted
in eternal scrolls, and passed like a baton
from generation to generation in the grace
of his lines?

Do you want your beauty, smile, soul, grace
And every good thing you exude
To be captured into metaphors encrypted in his poems?
Do you want to live in the heart of all and sundry
who loves the poet?

A poet is a high priest on the sanctuary of oral oblations,
who captures both mortal and immortal hearts
With the charm of his craft,
His muse proceeds from everything that touches his heart
For in his heart, his poetry beats
The poem is the life of the poet

So if you touch the heart of a poet,
The prints of your soul becomes an indellible residue
An article of his hearty professions
Of timeless words that reverbate endlessly
Beyond his mortality and yours
Now, did you just say you let a poet
Fall in love with you?

to you all my good friends through time
i dedicate this poem with loving nostalgia
you each left an indellible mark on me
frankieboy you knew how to duck and feign
and you gave me a blue eye that wouldn't go
dannyboy you were always the funny one
making smelly noises under your armpit
sonnyboy you were the sleepwalking mother's boy
i remember you for being a neat dresser
but each one of you was just a station on my route
to places i thought mattered until i got there
now i'm back to stay, but to whom will i tell my story?
you're all gone now, transported by mother time into time