I'm tired of impressing people, or trying to I mean.
But once I win someone over, I'm bored of them

I wish I could be the right thing

For the right person

But I'm the wrong thing for everyone

And everyone's wrong for me

i wish i could love someone as much as my cat loves me

and i wish i could feel something when i touch myself

i wish my life existed outside my room

i wish i had things to talk about

is eating me alive
its digital teeth tear through my flesh
blood is on the screen

all i ever wanted was to be loved

my poems are so good that they're bad. they are infinitely deep and meaningful and therefore don't mean anything at all.

Some find me amusing
Some find me bemusing.
Others find me vexing
Or even perplexing.

I don't care what you think
Unless I do.
But I mustn't look down
And start feeling blue.

Here is a poem I composed for you,
Like the ripples in the laces when I tie my shoes.

Discombobulating bobbleheads,
The knobby knuckles,
The seat belt buckle.
Introspeculating lobby beds.
The bumps in the road were on my head,
Disconnecting me from the thread.