If you are a girl and you are bisexual,
you're really just a ****.

If you are a boy and you are bisexual,
you're really just gay.

Bisexuality isn't a real thing,
it's a phase. You're confused.

All girls are secretly bi.
You're just more honest about it.

Bisexuals like everyone,
they don't know how to have real relationships.

Bisexuals are looking for attention,
They're dramatic,
They're confused,
They're *****
Idiots
Sinners
Immature.

Wrong.


Bisexuals are people.

I was right here yesterday,
oh, and singing the same song!
though perhaps not tomorrow
when we say our so-longs

my skin's made of circles
your silent fingertips trace,
and my eyes are of the words
you weave into a beautiful place

when you leave,

            it revolves.
            I can see it.
            I feel them.

I'll miss you,

but the winds will rock me to sleep on a willow branch,
the sky will gaze into my eyes.
crow feathers I'll brush past my face,
water will sing inside the tides,
and I'll dream within your lullabies


there's a part of everyone
in everything else.
a part of everything
in everyone.......

Peering through a wasp's wing
at shadows on the wall
Hear the whispered whimper
echo down the hall
Glass thump of bone and feathers
against the bedroom window
Motes of darkness floating
to air a moldy winnow
Creak of standing knees
rise in opioid haze
To wander past the shadows
and sniff of death's bouquets.

r ~ 6/11/14

I'm telling lies to terrorize tame territory,
and so they'll strip me down, string me up, and bleed me dry of glory.
Mourning from the morning after, hanging from a ceiling rafter.
Two rows of platinum canines, call me a gangsta-veloci-rapper.

Truly emancipated, drinking whiskey from Lincoln's skull.
Proclamation of my bank roll grants more ***** than animal control.
Flicking cigarettes at MC's who think they're superior,
into their passenger window to burn holes in their interior.

I run all night, jiggle my handle after flushing.
All the plump gals seem to love me, I've got their cellulite a'blushing.
I don't like *****, but I'll sip on something Russian,
if you ship her in the mail first class from your Middle-Euro cousin.

For fifteen years it served me well
through rain and wind and snow
But I decided that it was the time
and the poor thing had to go
I think of all the miles done
in its company
Fishing trips
and foreign trips
and holidays at home
But it had reached its sell by date
its usefulness expired
So I threw it in my fire pit
onto the funeral pyre

Thus I bid my old hat a last farewell

I guess you could call me a bit of a *******,
because whenever you ripped my heart from my breast,
I felt nothing but pure ecstasy.
I didn't think I could ever get rid
of the only thing that reminded me of you.