1
Tommy’s little, sure, but he’s
getting to that age
when he understands a little more
picking up things as his parents
take him shopping;
and hearing and seeing things
at home, in the backyard
and in the streets

2
but today poor Tommy
is caught in class
he’s about to explode
and he’s controlled it the last hour

“Please, miss,” he has the balls
to say it after all
“I need go piss!”

“You’re not going,”
says the pedantic Miss,
“until you use in a complete sentence
the proper English word
for your urge:
URINATE”

Poor Tommy –
he’s got the balls, but does
he have the brains?

Tommy thinks hard for a while -
one hand on his head
one hand on his pants
and then he blurts out:
“YOU ARE AN EIGHT
and Mrs Smith next door
who sunbathes naked in her courtyard
LOOKS LIKE A TEN. Now, can I go?”

Maybe I shouldn't speak my mind
Maybe I shouldn't let words out of my heart
Maybe I should be silent and frozen in time
Maybe I should wear an prisoner's mark

Maybe I should cut out my tongue
Maybe I should rip out my vocal chords
Maybe I should avoid everything fun
Maybe I should step aside people hoards

Maybe I should stab my ears
Maybe I should eject my eyes
Maybe I should plug up my tears
Maybe I should ignore how time flies

Maybe I should forget my loves
Maybe I should avoid my kin
Maybe I should forget what comes
From being a prisoner deep within

But I shouldn't. I wouldn't be punishing only myself. Others would hurt too, because

They would see me
They would hear me
They would touch me
They would speak of me
They would cry for me
They would still love me

And I'd never respond.

In this state of emotional mind
Of course I cannot see that
All I see is the my own hate
Breathing it and feeling it

I am human
Nothing better
Let go of my anger
Escape the fetter

When I'm like this
I need to stop and think
When my head is clear and cloudless
After taking a watery drink

Then I'll see past the emotions
And into the possible future
I'm at a cross road every day
I'd rather not be someone's butcher

I can take this path
And make everyone else hurt more
Or I can take a different way
Even though my heart is sore

I want to be in pain
It's what I know I deserve
But by thrusting myself onto the sword
I wouldn't ever live, I'd burn

It's a lie to say no one else will care
Its not true, it's not true
While you stand inside your flames
They watch you suffer through

Imagine their pain and see if it compares

Hello God,
I'm hoping you are well today,
I've just read something rather beautiful
that has inspired me to say:

Thank you Thank you Thank you
Lord, I've never felt this grateful
for every single thing in my life,
even ones-at times-angry and hateful.

Starting with the biggest first,
thank you for my parents,
for even when I'm scared of them
I know that they'll be present
at certain times of need
in life,
and perhaps someday
they will meet a wife.

Next thank you so Lord
for my sister,
angry and annoying,
just like a blister
She knows every inside joke
and we can laugh together,
quoting, singing, dancing, mocking,
truly two birds of a feather.

Thank you so much for
all my friends
Lord knows without them
I'd be at wits end. :) <3

Thank you for everything
I take for granted
like loving parents
who actually wanted
a little baby,
a little me
when they didn't know
what I'd turn out to be.

Running water plentiful,
Safe healthy food till I feel full
Not living everyday in fear
that I'd have to face
a gang rape scare,
a solid roof above my head,
a box of pads beneath my bed.
A plethora of coloured pencils,
notebooks, sketchbooks,
don't need stencils.

Thank you for the hands
I got,
that learned to draw before
they were taught
to even write the alphabet,
did you know of the attention
that I would get.

People notice me and my creations,
ask me to do a transformation
of a screwed up line, out of place,
they joy I get from their face
when they hold up
something I've done
and shout to their friends
'lookit what kim's drawn!!'

Thanks for my perfect
precious dogs,
and you kept Sara safe
when she fell off that log,
Were you there when we pulled
that tick right out of Puck,
so many tries,
but got it out with some luck. :D

Of course thanks for
all those boys,
the ones with beards that
still play with toys.

For my linkin Park buddy,
and Ed of course,
who hasn't been here
(having been sick as a horse)

Thank you for Beatles,
Green Day and for KISS
thank you so much Oh Lord
for giving me this.

I'll no longer roll my eyes at mass
when we say we praise you, each lad and lass.
Instead I'll throw my hands in the air
Shout Halleluiah! for the presence that's there.

i just want some sort of sign from you
that you want me to still love you
in two years.

i will sit here and wait for you to come home to me,
i will.

i will wait two long fucking years.


if you wanted me to.


i swear i would;
if you could only swear that you would forgive me

for the hearts that i will have broken while you were away


and i would kiss you
                                             r
                                                    mind and your
                         heart

for being so understanding


it's funny
my hair has stopped falling out

and it feels thicker

                   i want to shave it all off in the bathroom

(with the same razor i used to drag across this wrist)
and put it in a wooden box, and send it to you.

it would just be yours to keep

(sometimes, when i am feeling insane
i take a box cutter at work
and cut my fingertips, just a little bit.
or i take the blood that naturally flows from between my legs
and smear it on the walls of the shower
and on my legs and arms

i lay down under the stream of water
in the same shower where you once made love to me
i let it cover me
and i cry
i cry out for you)




and then maybe months later, i would buy a plane ticket to see you


and it would make you so angry

(because you told me to leave you alone.
you told me to leave you alone
and then you kissed me
and you told me you loved me.
you just don't want to talk to me anymore.
i'm trying so hard to figure out where your words and your actions match up.)

you would of course just send me home
and the plane might  crash down
and in death i would be happy
that you might finally care about me



i wish i could explain to you,
how much i love you.

and how fucked up i am without you here.

and how strong i am without you.

but how weak i feel

and how i want to scream until you hear my voice, miles and miles away

and i cough up blood

and lose my voice

you hear it
and you get in your car,
and you drive into the sunset
and you see the city skyline

just a few minutes from my house

but don't even bother to call

you sit on the side of the road
staring at the cars driving by

concentrating on this decision
then, turn around and drive the two hours back home

didn't even bother to tell me you were here


and i can't even think about our home
the bed we slept in together

because in that little town
in that little room
you were the only thing that made any fucking sense,

and i am a mess now


and so is this p
o
e
m

we sell two albums on  itunes if you search loud with love


you should try
wake up with the sunrise
not to early, sleep in late
but when you wake up remember  a couple rules for your fate

step one, people before you have done alot
so youre gunna have to do alot if you wanna get where you want

you gotta believe in yourself, dont dwell, make your dreams come true,
dont let others hold you in a samn situation too long

be yourself, do what you do,
i stress the importance of being you even though its all that you can do

make money
build the support yourself
last thing you need is somebody elses help

be you
be someone someone can talk to
stay true
cuz lies you cant undo

when youre working hard, dont give up
dont be a fool giving your time to cigarette butts

stand tall
stand  proud
never scream
dont be too loud

listen to your elders
then smirk but not with your toungue
hold it all in
then laugh with someone

you should try because the finer things in life make life worth living
and you should try because times on your side and youre always winning
you should try to take what it is you want, and turn it into reality
you can do it if you really want, youre bound by gravity

aint got nothing but time, so keep your head up
aint got nothing but time so i hope you get what you want

and if you want  nothing, i hope you still try
for your friends and family
though we do all die
life isnt all sad
thats what this ones about
so i hope you try
and never drop out

Poem to a Friend
Dear Friend,
I'm lost. No I’m not, but I’m clueless and facing huge decisions. My heart is in one direction by common sense tells me another. Does money outweigh artistic freedom? What defines happiness? Where am I going? Do I need to decide now?
I'm not looking for guidance, merely an ear. Life is staring at me. I want to ask for help but I know I'm a hell of a lot better than that. I know I'm stronger than that.
But I like to think back and reflect, it's cool man, thinking of my childhood. When I was younger it didn't matter. None of that shit mattered and that made life so easy. A job meant dressing up as a fireman and laughing- not a 9-5. What is a 9-5? Am I ready?
Time will tell.
I'm going away soon. Life matters. Life is hard.
I'm not depressed. I'm not dying. I have just been hit in the face by reality.
The best part is, I'm man enough to have a strong right hook to throw back.
Look out world, look out strangers, look out mystery, I'm here; and I'm excited.
  
Yours Truly.

Why do we have a sick obsession with fleeting encounters
We are infatuated with quick passions
We brush the surface of interaction
We brush lips
We brush hands
We brush lives.
We never press the surface
We never press our passions
We need to press our lips
We need to press our ambitions
We need to press our hands
We need to press our lives into symbiosis.
We are scared for what happens after the blissful, brief, mysterious moment
We do not wish to know what happens once the surface is broken
We fear rejection.
We err toward safety- to minimal contact- minimal exposure- minimal risk
Our fragile continence’s are limiting our life- our passion- our love.
Turn down the offer for fleeting life, fleeting passion, fleeting love.
Why merely brush life’s surface?
Dare to press deeper- life has more to offer than mitigated risk and passing romances.

I’ve been cured of my passion, my drive, my power.
Where has my sickness gone?
The push behind my brain, the pressure upon my artistic uvula has been relieved.
  
I threw up words, stanzas, poems.
I barfed- poetic-vomit.
Pure-unadulterated vomit
I was content, fulfilled- or rather- emptied.
The bug has flown from its host; my well has run dry

I don't wish to be cured
I want to vomit, puke, barf- more lyrics than ever before.
The world is in need of sick poets, deathly ill individuals.
What sick vaccine is eradicating our precious uncommon cold?

A cleansed world is one without expression, without freedom, and without the most beautiful and necessary illness we fondly christen as: Poetry.

"She is such an excellent student in English,
and I'd ask her teachers why her grades were low
and they'd say she wouldn't turn anything in.  And
it was true, she'd say this isn't ready yet, it's not perfect."
Perfectionism.  That's it.  I don't have it, God knows
but after 500 years of therapy I can look any psychological ailment
in the face...now she's dropped out of college and
he is not happy, my former boss,
"she says it's a 'gap' year" like the British Royal Family takes after
prep school, to be sent to rope cows in the British Empire,
Be an Australian cowboy and post to the trot like a proper Englishman
He's right, it's not a gap year.  
He speaks so quietly, he has judged me so harshly
pathologized me, behaved as if he is perfect and I am nothing
this is quite a large crack in the perfect facade
and I'm still here wondering
so I do what the courageous do and I google perfectionism and
before long I gather details of a childhood spent trying to have accomplishments
so your parents will notice you, a childhood where your feelings aren't important
an emotionally impovershed childhood lacking mirroring, positive mirroring because
the parents were to wrapped up in other things or they didn't really care and suddenly
I understand why this boss of mine would dig into my very soul
because he is so much like my parents
and yet, so afraid, because if I can google this,
then so can he, so why doesn't he when he's the one
with the degree in psychology, so why am I the one
trying to figure out his daughter's problems
and I know the answer
I want to solve mine
Is it the Jew in me?  That kind of willingness to look into that vast
horrid place of self hatred and take a flashlight even and look
at the bloody mess of a psyche and try to attend to the wounds
to heal, the be willing to walk in, squishy entrails cut off
and bloody under my feet, to try to sew them back together
to get the whole system working again.
I want to e-mail her the articles I read about her
I want to heal her, I want him to read this and know
that he is known and he was not such a good father
and she needs help
but no.  it is only me I hope to understand
as I realize I am in the cave, the immensity of my own psyche
trying to understand it, fix it, yet again