i do get sad,
just like everyone else,
i do get mad,
& i do get glad.
the three basic emotions,
i seem to rotate.
it interferes with my
creativity.
i start sounding like a broken record,
& i could almost sense the eyes rolling back,
"here she goes again, with all that!"
it's a notion i get.
it's my insecurity,
the little voice in my head that tells me,
"you are not good enough for poetry!"

i hate you so much,
today i thought about you.
it ruined half my day,
the thought of you…
it disgust’s me,
i blame me.
i regret,
replying to your lame *** DM.
i fell for the ******* phrase,
“oh my god, if only you were my girl,”
that’s what you said.
it’s been four years,
nine-eleven just passed.
happy late anniversary,
your gluttony,
is beneath me.
******* if you are reading this.

the dream went like so:
it was late night and i was drinking,
heavy drinking on my third one.
it all came to me.
i knew all along.
i am who i am and people love it,
so they say.
actions speak louder in my dream,
i was ran.
through their perspective they told,
they were jealous of my bag.
this doesn’t make sense,
in the dream it was whole lot of nonsense,
if you tell me.
mystic or misfit?
i could not tell.
I WAS PERFECTLY FINE,
MAKING UP MY OWN DREAMS.
my daddy once told me:
ONLY WHEN YOU WAKE UP,
YOUR DREAMS WILL COME
ABOUT.
what happens if it’s a nightmare?
it’s a rebuttal,
i only cause trouble.