The biggest compliment he could get was,
“I like that.”
“That’s creative,” coming in a close second.
Alienated
Spaceship flying ************
That last word’s disingenuous.
I’ve only ****** a ******
She’s only ****** me.
I guess we got that going for us.
He stares at a pad and paper,
Or maybe the computer equivalent.
Who trusts their own hand to be honest?
Who entrusts tomes to their own handwriting?
I mean, can you read that ****
I guess if you were slow and methodical,
But stream-of-consciousness doesn’t allow that,
Even if the tag is a little off.
I’ve got money to keep living,
Even if most of it is credit.
What’s my side hustle?
Using my debit.
Let it alone, is what I called the last ****
God, if I could turn these to hits.
Some bangers, some ear-worms.
I just want someone to read this,
And be like, **** I feel heard.”
Jul 8, 2019
Jul 8, 2019 at 5:22 PM UTC
I think I’m ****** up,
An island in an ocean,
An ocean full of people;
Welcome, you’re alone.
Let’s talk in Scrabble
Bananagrams from the mouth
******* off the dome.
Computer programs, give me courage
If x=no
And y=yes
I used to be able to program my feelings
Now I got pills for that.
Jul 8, 2019
Jul 8, 2019 at 5:15 PM UTC
I feel like ****
I've hit a ditch
Flipped my side
****** my ride
I'm in the pit
I ate a 'wich
I saw the tide
The Dude Abides
**** with your human
I'm unimportant
Lack of dereliction
Leaves me inordinate
I'm a work of fiction
Take me and my dic(k)tion
I am losing friction:
I'm falling out my mind.
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
I am a line
stick me in or snort me, Courtney
Battle rap fake fools
in mind games and rhyme schemes
that really exist in your vehicle
I'll be blood work,
you play needle
Listened to Migos instead of the Beatles.
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 2:24 AM UTC
I paced back and forth
Kitchen to living
Room
Bowl in hand, I seat myself.
Discomfort.
Discomfort leads to frustration,
Frustration gives way to irritation
Irritation is stopped by standing again.
“It’s just breakfast,” I say to myself.
I can eat anyway I want, **** it.
But as I try to plop on the leather couch once again,
Some of the ever-precious cereal milk flows forth
From the lip of the bowl
To my pajama’d pants.
I’m going to stand and eat.
Thanks, breakfast.
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 11:39 AM UTC
Why even consider this a poem?
Unwrite it.
Take it back,
but it's too late.
Ink scribbled on rustic pages,
or pages made to look rustic.
Let's face it: you bought this notebook at a bookstore.
It's got to look special for all your elaborate gifts to the world.
You're that special snowflake, yeah?
Your writing against the world of oppressive darkness
surrounding your poor brain, boy.
Write your way out.
****** Toons the wall, and make sure your escape.
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 4:35 PM UTC
Hey girl, I’m a mess.
You’re a “private **** with a holster
I guess.
I’m a private **** undercover;
I jest.
All I want is to **** and be heard.
I’m sure I can go without the latter;
Just **** me like I matter.
It’d be easier if you’d have your life figured out.
That line goes for us both, I suppose.
I keep thinking it’s easier to drive her away,
I’m not enough.
So I’m looking through a window, at a woman I don’t really love.
Wondering if she’s the secret key,
Like there is one.
I suppose that’s why **** is so easy, right?
You come with me.
It doesn’t matter what I have in my pocket,
What the bad things I did today were,
Who the **** I am.
I’m just a private ****
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 12:18 AM UTC
I give, I give, and I taketh away.
I’m left with nothing at the end of the day.
I’m left speechless, you’ll give speeches
But I’ll be far away.
The frustration lies within.
I hear your voice in my head
Screaming,
******* live better.”
I’d be better off Red.
At least I’d live happy, margins well below.
But you wouldn’t let me,
You’d have nothing to show.
Leave your fears at the door,
Young child.
The winter wind sweeps close.
If you are not careful,
The frostbite will get your nose.
I’m empty; I’m flawless
I need more than this.
I can’t be me, and what you want at the same time.
I guess ignorance is bliss.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 1:49 AM UTC
Etches in the ***** mirror, like ghost across the skies.
draw hopeful words in steam from all my weakened sighs
The morning brings bravery to meet the darkness with defiance
but night fills my heart with longing and the slightest stroke of violence.
The eyes in front of me,
reflections of what I want to be
aren't the eyes I actually see
the purest form of what is me.
Wrinkles pouring 'cross my face
meet the stretch marks of wasted space.
I check the clock.
My bank account.
The scale.
Numerical definitions of what I have and what I don't.
But I cannot check my happiness to see if I am overdue.
No check on Friday will fill my heart... which has been overdrawn.
How to measure the strength of soul, before the vault is all but gone...
The etches in the mirror say
"Tomorrow is another day." while advertisements of existence blur my vision.
They tell me this is life.
They tell me work your job. Pay your bills. Accept your place.
But I have slowly learned that I will never agree.
What will I do when words run out and I am left with an empty wallet, an empty mind, an empty heart?
Let me body decay before my strength does.
Let the words stay etched in my mind.
Tomorrow is another day
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 5:49 AM UTC
"Just remember the last password,"
Passing out over dog turds
As they flush out their ***** soaked linens.
A second away, a crusader she stays,
letting men and women, alike, hit rock bottom.
Her hair properly coiffed,
Her apron in a knot,
tied neatly, behind her back.
She waters the garden,
begs for no pardons
and awaits the hose to lose its slack.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 5:36 AM UTC