Working front register at Starbucks
you ask a little boy in green
if he likes Minecraft
What the coolest thing
he ever built was
then watch
As his family
and the whole line behind them
gasp, fall silent
stare at you
with standing ovation eyes
as he lights right up
to tell you all about it

I wake up on a yoga mat
In what is now just My
empty room.

All the clutter That made this house
lived in.
Tucked
in the three old
Sock and underwear drawers
That used to be:
Hers.

The family photographs
half the nerdy posters
books,
Magic the Gathering cards,
Burgled by some addict named time.

I look out at what I now call
"The guest bedroom".
The only evidence of her
An empty dresser
covered in Princess stickers.

At work
Customers ask:
How are you doing?
"I'm awesome! how are you?"
How are you doing?
"I'm wonderful! what brings you to freeport?"
How are you doing?
"I'm fantastic, peak or dark roast?"

How's your daughter?
"Step-daughter."
That's all I'm allowed to tell you
My boss said I'm scaring off customers By
over-sharing
So he wrote me a script.

I would love to tell you
I don't know how she's doing
And it's killing me.

Her mother left me,
We were both fifteen at the time so
My mother, Rightfully cautious
of her overly passionate puppylove eyed son
Didn't let me adopt

So I don't get to see her anymore.

Her mother was a fire who never drank enough rain
And that little girl
Will burn without my clouds.

I am playground math lessons
In space of mindless television
I am baking a cake together Instead of
"You won't eat till you listen".
I am the voice behind every barbie doll
And dinosuar that ever fell in love.

when you ask me how she's doing
All I can think about is how
I earned that
first "I love
you,
dada."

How I made her laugh
more times than her Mother made her
Cry.
How I tucked her in at night
and she made me read her
"Oh The Places You'll Go",
Over
and Over
and Over.
Screaming
when I said she'd go
On through the hakken kraks howl,
and Giggling
when I said she'd move
Mountains.
I raised her for three years.

But because I walked in on my daughter
Locked in "The guest bedroom"
banging on the Oak door
Screaming "DA DAAAA!"
While her mother forgets about us
On the other side of a keyhole.

I have to waste at this register
Handing you a precious cup of coffee
every precious cup of coffee
another abuse I can't protect her from.

"How is your daughter?"
"Step Daugher"
"How are you doing?"
"I'm awesome."
"How is your daugher?"
"Step daughter."
"how are you doing? Step daughter"
"Tell me how you're doing, Step Daughter."
"Please, Tell me you're safe."
"Tell me you're safe."
"Tell me you're safe."

"if your personality was a beverage,
what beverage would it be?"

She said: "I think I'd be Coffee"

"No,
You can't be coffee."

You're too sweet
Cheap, With two shots of vanilla

COFFEE is bold, smokey,
Burns your throat.

I had coffee once,
Brandy

Woke up to her every morning,
For years I got drunk off of her
When I didn't drink enough water
She made me sick.
but I never drank water
Went down the hall
to a sippy cup full of milk.

Even she,
was not just milk.
She was strawberry milk.
My little Coffee milk.

You are not Coffee.
You are water.

But soak up all my grounds
***** yourself on the dead burnt cherries
I've left for you.

Maybe
you can be some quick
instant version.

I spent years of my life in a fantasy world.

waters inhabited with murlocs
Forests with centuars and unicorns
I had badass armor
Spellbooks, Abilities, Charisma modifiers!

When you live in Dungeons and dragons you finish quests, unlock gods,
Slay Monsters

When my DnD group broke up

I didn't lose a group of friends.
I lost a party of adventurers

Their eulogies pronounced at the end of that final nat one
Will never be forgotten.

Portaits carved like improv comedy routines.
Characatures of our ideal selves
Bound, sealed, stuck on a book shelf
We deserved another sequel.

When the party healer crumpled her car against a Concrete wall at 70 miles an hour
It made sense nobody else knew how to cast raise dead.

In a world that is supposed to play out our ideal realities
it was no question her charecter lived eternal. the way she would have wanted.
The way we wanted so badly to be true.
Nobody felt right taking over her charecter.
And nobody wanted to **** her off.
So we wrote her story.
Every die she had tossed this whole adventure. Each murloc she ran from, each unicorn she rode, etched into a leather bound tome.
Placed Right on the same shelve we kept our pathfinder books.
Her headstone.
We never played after that.
But she did.
When we placed the novel next to the flowers her mother left.
We felt her cast healing song
one last time
And that night
We got a full rest

I never asked who I was praying to
never needed to know
just Watched the dice roll as wishes did off my tongue
Cringed on the gamblers table.
See, my sister needed a bike
As much as she craved transportation
I craved sin more.
So when god dialed his voicemail and got my wish for fire
He transfered over the call
Or rather, down
And I became a jumble of kindling and wood.
On Christmas, the bike sat beneath the tree in a big red ribbon.
My sister sat with her hands clasped in prayer, and suddenly her fingers fell off.
She couldn't ride a bike with no fingers,
So santa swapped out the tags.
Signing the bike over to me.
Soaking my sisters tears in my flames.
Greed wasn't the only thing I prayed for,
I asked for ***. Lots of ***. And coffee. And Comic Sans to dissapear forever
And I got it. Most of it.
I still have to deal with ******* Comic Sans.
Even God cannot be that kind.
With all my wishes there was a price,
A horror, a trauma, to balance out all my bad karma for making these "wishes"
Or "deals".
With whoever was listening
If not God, someone...
It was Becky.
I call it Becky.
The voice
It's less intimidating than schizophrenia, or D.I.D, or the Devil.
When I pray to Becky.
She does not say a word back. she giggles,
In the corners of my eyes, waiting.
Listening to me beg for vices, slowly sacrificing my sanity.
Giving me everything I ask for,
And taking everything I want.

There's no Pokémon
here in Rio, much like our
clean drinking water.

Gwar'th, a scranny peasent boy
from Deastbhillow
Frequented the tavern to hear the local bard play
Enthralled by stories of shipwrecks, cataclysms, Corpses rising from their graves.
He begged the bard over and over.
"Please! take me on your next adventure?"
Gwar'th locked eyes with the bard
Gave him every bit of attention.
The bard always declined,
"it's too dangerous for a child." He said,
"But I'll sing you a song.
The tale of the Red Metal Lute."
~~~
The sky was black
pouring buckets.
You couldn't see but walls of rain
you couldn't hear a ****** thing.
Not even each other speak
Until A loud wail rose from the sea
shattered every window and bottle on board.
In the distance, a figure
unwaivered by the storm.
A ghostly figure,
with a red metal lute
Seemed to fly,
Loom on the rain.
the figure plucked a single string
wailing screams from years of forgotten dead
some sailors on board went mad
The woman and children ran inside.
The captain headed out the cabin.
Grabbed his lute from off the wall
Walked right up to the ghostly demon
Challenged him to a duel.
"I win, you lure me the biggest fish
inside this ghostly sea
Once we haul it back to shore,
you let my sailers leave."
The ghostly demon preached back in wail
"My spoils claim each drop of blood
left upon your ship,
you'll join all the eternal tongues
wailing from my instrument."
They played their lutes so hard that storms whipped bruised wailed and brown
Lighting struck, fire popped and squeltched under the heavy rain.
Not a soul on board could hear the music, for they all deaf from the banshees wail.
But one small float snuck cloaked in shadows from the duel above the sails.
It had a mother and a brother
a baby in the mothers arms.
They made mostly to shore.
The oceans trials took all the family, but I, the baby,
A boy.
I don't know who won, the Captain, the Demon.
But I know one thing is true.
The power that lies within' an instrument
is more then anybody knew.
~~~
One foggy night in Deastbhillow
Long after the tavern closed
The bard was packing for a 'venture
loading up the partys caravan to head out of town
Gwar'th snuck on behind the treasure chests.
It stopped in front of a cavern
Five adventurers stepped off
A knight, a priest, a bard, a Clairvoyant
And In the shadows,
Gwar'th.

Down in the belly of the cave
Past the bones and the torches
there was a red glowing from the end
THE RED METAL LUTE
Gwar'th, excited, lunged from the shadows
Alerting the party.
The knight drew his weapon
The bard struck a chord
The priest prayed
And The Clairvoyant read the boys mind.
Together They killed the boy in cold blood.

"What did it look like to you?" Said the Preist
to the knight who slaughtered the boy.
"A beautiful woman.
What did it look like to you?" The knight asked the priest.
"My god."
"What did it look like to the boy?" The bard asked.
"An instrument," said the Clairvoyant, "A powerful instrument.
What did it look like to you?"

The bard looked down.
"The boy."

Won't feel him stay
start to change
Just a poster taped to blame
Only see him float away

Good luck trying to play nice
It doesn't seem very likely these days
With all the kids pop lock and dropping dead
gunned down un a club
Astronauts getting high
The worlds gone to ****.
This post apocalyptic monstrousaty we call mother earth
a flea on the cat of perspective.
Projecter onto a sphere we call planet
Every tree a hologram
Color refracted light
Light my cigarette 
see a small spark of reality burn out.
Inhale some air that has no color.
Proof of it's existence
Blocking the color shot at your retnas
Burn your retnas.
Burn them On the sun
stare at it till you blind yourself
Take those happy pills
Don't ever forget the days you don't  remember
quiet warm days,
sounds but never understanding
just blissfull floating
lit until you pop and cry.
Don't let yourself pop.
Stay curled up
Sleep.
Sleep.
Sleep.

Told at age 18 she's gonna go blind at 26
Wrote it down in her notebook
Tucked it away in a junk drawer
full of glass eyes
one for every outfit
pearl for the wedding
Ebony for Halloween
Nine to five on Saturday
She rents out the left socket to local businesses
sold that part of herself to make a quick buck.
Quickie
Quickly get his fix
sting
Won't feel him in the morning.
doesn't feel anything anymore
Epidural
Gave her spine away too
replaced it for a zipper to better access her marionette ribcage
thought she could cut out the strings
left a scar so big it needed more then buttons and thread
goes by cupcake
puts her frosting on every morning
has to taste sweet
boys like the red dye
dripped into batter
battered
almost without notice.
Nobody will notice
when it goes off
comes out
Red dye blood splotch
the epidural
won't feel anything
doesn't feel anything anymore
sting
a part she can't even feel
the wedding dress she still hasn't picked up
or canceled
paid for
By renting out space.
white with ebony lace
beautiful pearl jewelry
like glass eyes
drawers full of glass eyes
she plucked out so she didn't have to look
watch it grow
the hospital didn't reimburse her for this feeling
they didn't warn her about the ticking clock
screaming mothers
mirage houses with white picket fences
only barren desert wastelands
tumbleweeds taunt her in the worst of nightmares
Screaming churn crying soft
Cribs and cages
Marbles clinked as she pulled out the junk drawer
rolled past the frosting colored pistol
around a notebook
the notebook she wrote every picture she didn't want to see anymore down in.
the notebook she picked up first.

Last night Gary Facebooked me:
11:03 PM
"Can I ask you to be crazy with me?"
Gary said he had been flirting with this girl, May
for six months.
She wanted to see him in person tonight,
And he needed a ride.
Gary and I met 11 days ago.
Strangers brought together in the streets of Freeport by pokemon GO.
he spotted me holding my phone out from a mile away.
"Team Instinct?
TEAM INSTINCT!"
Lightning cracked above us
as we cryed in harmony:
"THERE IS NO SHELTER FROM THE STORM!"

My knowledge of him consists of three things.

1. He works as a security guard
Is first responder for medical emergency
Tackles felons and escorts people with restraining orders.
plays it up like he's a security guard for something mysterious
He is a security guard for Wal-mart.

2. Gary buys peoples affection.
Throws his money aimlessly
Pointing at his trophies
Prooving he too is expensive

3. To Gary,
there is nothing better to do
from 12 - 5am
Than wander Looking for pikachu.
With me.
besides visiting this May.

"A taxi would be $80
but I'd rather pay that to you, Bro."

On the drive there,
He is Squeeing, Singing,
Flipping out.
"I've got knots in my stomach Bro."

Upon arrival,
He readily jumps from my car
"Go catch 'em Brock" I say.

When I get back to Freeport
he sends me a messege.
1:04 AM
"Dude.
I think she fell asleep waiting
I'm not inside yet."

I park my car in Freeport,
Finish catching a Weedle.
"I'm on my way, stay safe."

"Man I'm so down."
"She's not coming to the door Nick."
"I'm just gonna curl up on the ground and cry."
"I've called her 24 times"

He heavily thumps his backpack into my backseat
Slumps down into my car.

"There is"
"no shelter"
"From"
"the storm"
"In my heart."

We stare out the window.
At the two homeless men
With no teeth
That he didn't beat.
He's holding night vision binoculars
And a clean Knife.
"I'm sorry I got you involved, Nick
I asked you to be crazy with me."

The momment I realized
facebook
was a pokedex for people
Was the moment I realized
I don't want to catch them all.

Some pokemon aren't worth the trouble.
Let alone making it double.

Abra for instance,
I understand you like spooning
but if you're going to teleport
every time I throw the Pokeball,
maybe it's best you stay in the cave.

cubone:
Did you ever think maybe,
wearing the skull
of your dead mother
for protection
might mean
you have some serious family baggage?

Pidgey:
I shouldn't have to keep buying repels
to keep you away.
If I stroll through the tall grass
You appear every five minutes
Without realizing I AM IGNORING YOU.
Perhaps you should wait
until I throw another ball.

I'm trying
to catch different pokemon right now
Who fit my team better
Have the Nature I want.

You had your chance
to be in my party
When I fed you that Razz berry
threw the first ball.
Caught you.
then you Evolved
into this big mouthed Golbat
About to swallow me whole.

Trainers.
Stop spending time on toxic pokemon
Poisen types, koffing and wheezing.
Psychic types that play you puppet.

Don't throw the ball to them
Let their grass rustle.
Walk on by
I'm transfering mine in for candies
Catching Shinies
legendaries whom there are only one of in this world.

I stopped trying to catch them all.
I'm searching the high ground
taking time to look at their move set
Running around town with them.

We'll EV train each other,
Get every badge together.
BEAT THE ELITE FOUR
Get knocked down
Go to the pokecenter
Do, do, dodo DO!
Get right back up, together.
Because it's not about catching them all.
It's about healing the ones that you have.

Pushing wheelbarrows through tall grass
hoping it will mow the lawn
it only carries old dirt
over new problems
Occasionally spilling manure over the lip to make new weeds grow faster.

Never believed in lawn mowers.
Said that cutting the heads off all this grass would risk cutting the heads off the flowers too
Most people say **** the flowers
But not you
Your garden is extravagant.

I sit next to my lover on the train
It always happens on a train
There is a fat woman sitting across from us
She is our friend
Tells of her tragedy.
Says we are young.
We did not have a
"gain 75 pounds alone in your house" depression like her
Tells us of her husband who is sexting
My lover
He is an old greying biker man
met my lover through being friend of the family
Must have looked at the little 12 year old girl at the time
wanted to **** it.
Waited till she was ripe for the picking.
She sends him nudes, flirts
has never told me.
I ask if it is real
grab her phone.
She trys to hide it while admitting she wanted to try alcohaul
Or drugs.
He could buy them for her.
He was useful.
Had connections.
I burst out the back of the train hoping she'll follow
console me.
She does not.
I think about jumping
the train is parked
there would be no sleep.

Quit smokin' while you can.
My wife and I been rollin' our own lately
Those things got wax rings in 'em
You're smokin' wax that'll give you cancer
See these 17 year old kids with that mornin' hack
You know it's not from doin' it for years.

2. Be aware of your surroundings.
Some of these kids get so lost in their phones they don't realize they're a target.
Isis could drop right in and pop 'em right there
It's sad.
I got this flip phone.
I can check the time, check the weather
that's all I need.
One person has my number
that's my wife
She's all I need.

3. There's gonna be a revolution.
Last time aristocrats were in power takin' money from the bottom you know what happened?
The French Revolution
It's gonna happen again I can feel it
Republicans think Trump is gonna lead 'em there but he stepped over dead bodies to get where he is
He's not who I'd pick, honestly.
Hilary isn't my first choice either if I could of had my way I'd pick Bernie.
They say oh he's a Socialist like he's some ****
They don't understand the difference.

4. Mary has been working in there 20 years.
Makin' 10 dollars an hour.
That's sad.
I got up to 14 dollars and that's after a two dollar cut in pay
Most those kids won't ever see 15 dollars an hour
I tell 'em get out while you can.

"Why did
you let that
man cut?"

"Because your
mother is a
good person."

You like to blend in
It's safer, not being identified in a line up
Not being noticed by the school Bully
I couldn't bear that life.
Always needed spotlight
Crosshairs
Skyscrapers.
Let people come into my building for it's big neon signs
When they leave maybe they've learned how to use pen. Bought or sold stories.
Taken something with them.

You are in the ocean
One of the many holding hands
dropletts blending together
Boats motor by, dump their waste
People dip their toes in,
******* before they leave
Scream over you about their tragedies.
Never hear you.

Except one girl
She sits by the ocean
Listens to the waves and the crashing
Watches the men hurl lobster traps
wants to be a ****** diver.
takes lessons
Gets a degree in marine biology
visits your rocky bottom
Lost in the sea of other droplettes
Illuminated Neon Coral houses
Tiny white specks to chase
lights dangling from
big teethed fish

She stays there
Loves how beautiful it is
Her name is Poetry

At goodwill Buy the Pound
every day is black friday
Hundreds of soccer moms line up their
white sneakers on a black and yellow caution tape line
zombie over it streching for yu-gi-oh cards
wait for hazmat suits to wheel out eight bins full of trash gone treasure.
When the bins are locked in place the hazmat suits go back to pack another load

The air horn sounds.
You do not want to be anywhere near that caution tape line when this happens.
At goodwill buy the pound
If you're not part of the fight,
you're part of the floor.
They need to find their
puzzle peices lost in cat liter
Johnny really needs
every single nerf dart
DID YOU TAKE A NERF DART?!
WE TALKED ABOUT THIS JO-ANN
THOSE WERE FOR JOHNNY.
Johnnys grandma is not the only elder throwing elbows
varacose veins are curb stomping dads hauling consoles to make a quick buck
Skinny College aged video game collectors swim through the mom-pocalypse
raid the stashes for disguarded NES cartridges
Jo-ann grabs a twinky boy by the black graphic hoodie.
Tosses him back into the horde
lunges for a barbie doll hidden under some wires.
This is not a place for nice children.
If you aren't willing to push around some nanas
you will leave covered in nike prints.
This place turns people.
Ever look at someones mom and think
She looks like she's always wearing a mask.
She is!
Buy the pound is her natural habitat.
One grandma keeps so many cats, her living room is a Petrie dish
I think she just wants to be in charge of a small third world countrey.
Granny needs to go rally up the soccer moms at buy the pound.
To lead those cats into a mother thirfting revolution
These woman leave feeling like they saved their family a fortune
Dumpster diving for sport.
Every tossed or trampled stranger
One flip flop closer to
feeding their children
clawing through poverty

When that airhorn sounds again.
They scurry back to their carts.
Tell their children
"Make sure nobody steals this"
as they line back up in haste.
Touch their all white nikes to the caution tape line.
Hold their family close like brass knuckles.
when that airhorn sounds.
It's time to fight.

You ****** exotic,
beautiful creature.
Here we are again
I made sure to not be tardy this time
Which was easy since you moved ten minutes away
You called me seven times on the
walk from the parking lot, to your front door.
On the fourth call you mentioned pouring another shot of Jim Beam
So no, I will not be ******* you.
I am obligated to let you know I am a mess.
That is, I would have told you I am a mess
If you didn't mute me by providing more then enough proof it was mutual.
you said lets dump our boyfriends
date each other
Poly wouldn't be enough attention for you
Who have passed self destructive
into destroyed.
With your unzipped *** stained lingerie and ****** that I found
Still inside you.
you forgot it was there when you asked me to *******
the next morning
After my fifteenth no.

God bless that ******
Caution tape boon from some deity I should pray to more often.
Blessing me with one last chance to think before my actions.
That ****** saved me from any number of potential tragedies.
Yes I was disgusted
Not because the cotton string was mistaken originally for some sort of ***** rat tail.
Not because I imagined for a breif moment, a tiny sufficated animal
who got a little to curious.
Not because you were offended I wouldn't yank it out and ******* anyway,
instead of assuming it was a sign
I should stop my hands.
Go to bed.
Disgusted at myself.
if not for that magical used ******
from what I assume to be
the God of a full eight hours of sleep and
Inverted libido
I would have let myself be seduced Into spiraling back into ******* the pain away.

I've worked too hard at reminding myself who I am.
To let myself be the man who throws away the bruised hearts.
Or drowns them in a sea of bodies.

No.
Now that you've woken me.
Put your body away.
Now that you're sober.
Where is your heart.
Go on, get it.
Beautiful.
God is that a specimen.
Bruised from aorta to base.
Here's mine.
All purple and calloused.
Uncanny isn't it?


almost Identical

Of Drained batteries
The white plastic robot that uses them
The pink and poppy wallpaper of
Tiny bedroom the robot sits in.
Child too grown to want pink walls.
Doesn't want the toy either
Not since the battery died
Overalls tucked into boots tear down pastel gardens
Paint over the chipped glue in beige.
The Dreamer
Of a drained battery
Of a toy.
Sees the walls from memory now.
Won't open her eyes in the bedroom anymore.
wear beige anymore.
This robots Batteries are hard to replace
Beige Is difficult to charge.

Part 1

He constantly thinks
About their future
Raising children
A big field to play on
White picket fence to hold it all in
Never liked the idea of
Raising animals
Preferred the two of them
Talking through their problems
He doesn't trust
The media
Saying: buy this, be loud, sell your body
This kind of danger
Not a world to raise children
He loves her
Can't cage this feeling
He is protector
Loves feeling her head on his chest
If only for a moment
He'll never clip her wings
Loves watching her fly
He prays for her to come back
for the children

Part 2

She will leave
Any man who stops her
Loving how she wants to
Without some cage
Wants to run a farm
All the men shes collected
Goats,  Cows, Chickens
Working deep into the hours of the night
Never sleeping
Her life of addiction
Injected into her bloodstream
So she does
What she needs to survive
To love
So many people love her
Always touching, kissing, whispering
One of the many lost souls in this forest
Her hips a curtain call to tragedy
Long enough to need her love
Then she'll leave
Returning only to those she trust
To deliver story books
of goats, cows, chickens


Part 3, Across**

He constantly thinks
she will leave
About their future
any man who stops her
Raising children
loving how she wants to
A big field to play on
without some cage
White picket fence to hold it all in,
wants to run a farm
Never liked the idea of
All the men shes collected
Raising animals,
Goats, cows, chickens
Preferred the two of them
working deep into the hours of the night
Talking through their problems
never sleeping
He doesn't trust
her life of addiction
The media
injected into her bloodstream
Saying: buy this, be loud, sell your body
so she does
This kind of danger
what she needs to survive
Not a world to raise children
to love
He loves her
so many people love her
Can't cage this feeling
always touching, kissing, whispering
He is protector
one of the many lost souls in this forest
Loves feeling her head on his chest
her hips a curtain call to tragedy
If only for a moment
long enough to need her love
He'll never clip her wings
then she'll leave
Loves watching her fly
returning only to those she trust
He prays for her to come back
to deliver story books
for the children  
of goats, cows, chickens

Roomate:
"It's uhh...
...Mad Max role play."

Naked Bound man
center of the room:
*"We get really into character"

The field is covered in bright green grass that He,
The baby dragon nibbles on.
I'm allergic to grass but I like watching him eat it.
know it fills him up.
The blades start rustling and we hear a train.
The sky gets bright forming a giant mushroom
I should hide in my brick shelter but he,
The baby dragon gets off on the danger of it all.
I am advised to just stand by.
Wait for the sky to clear
When the billow clouds pass
He'll be standing there.
Charred, Alive, Stumbling towards me.
I can catch him
Bandage his wings.

So I wait.
But while I'm blinded by these radiation fueled lights
I cry, and scream
Completely useless.
He flies off
waves of radiation singe past me.
Face Burning.
Skin Boiling.
I call "Dragon!"
"Baby Dragon!"
But he never answers.
Too busy getting lost in the wasteland.
Soaking in the radiation.
Loves the way it burns.
So I just sink
crawl towards what I think is his
Cold, mutated, dead body.
left behind by the whirring storm of the end.
And I rip it's wings off
Crying and screaming
Snot pouring down my face
Dust storm lashing cross my back
Red gashes against the
Glowing bright green sky
Loud muted sandy horror

Until It stops.
Goes quiet.
When I wake up.
The grass is gone.
He is standing there.
Baby dragon.
Not Scarred. Not Tired.
But stumbling forward into my arms.
His wings full of pride, glowing
Wrap around us and hug tight.
"I missed you." He says
"I love you". He says
I was the one charred, boiled.
But the baby dragon mends my blisters.
Rubs my head
whispers my name.
we count the seconds together.
Before the train noises start again.

My Bipolar Disorder is a stout-bodied mammal with horns and cloven hooves.

There are two types of My Bipolar Disorder:
Domestic, and Mountain.

My Bipolar disorder typically spends its days grazing on grasses

My Bipolar Disorder will dig depressions in the ground to sleep, rest, and bathe in.

My Bipolar disorder is super social during the winter, and tends to go solo during the summer.

My Bipolar Disorders tail usually points up! (Unless it is frightened or sick)

My Bipolar Disorder is extremely Curious and Intelligent.

Once My bipolar disorder has discovered a weakness in its fence, it will exploit it repeatedly.

There are over 300 distinct breeds of My Bipolar Disorder.

Within' minutes of being born, my Bipolar Disorder is up and walking around.

My bipolar disorder used to live in the white house with Abraham Lincoln.

One day an ethiopian Herder walked in on My Bipolar Disorder liteally bouncing off of cliff walls because it just Discovered Coffee.

My Bipolar Disorder has four stomachs

The horns of My Bipolar Disorder are typically removed to reduce injury to humans.

My Bipolar disorder will explore anything new or unfamiliar in its surroundings, mainly with its mouth and tongue.

My bipolar disorder readily reverts to the wild if given the opportunity.

My Bipolar Disorder is more susceptible to Parasites and other infectious diseases when it is mismanaged.

My bipolar disorder has had a lingering connection with Satanism and pagan religions

My Bipolar Disorder is considered a "clean" animal by jewish dietary laws.

According to Zeus
As long as you leave it's bones whole,
My Bipolar disorder will keep coming back to life.

Tell me gently, beautiful Siren from the rocks
Whisper me memories
Who seeks my life end short
inform me bluntly, Beautiful siren from the sea
the soldiers marching to my gate.
Should I set the pitch to pour?

The demons march
I seek guidance in your song
Is there something I missed?
We’re sick
our morale is feeding the ant hills

Consult me Nicely, Beautiful siren from the rocks
tell me just how many friends,
I’ll lose to this war.

We found the sugar, found the wine.
lost the honey, lost time.
We’re out of rations,
low on passion.
men coddling tiny strands of hope.

Save me Now, beautiful Siren from the Grave.
My boats still floating
I could sail away.
back to my castle,
where my people lay.

I came here for vacation.
but I found your voice, decided to stay.

The people of my land pray,
that I go deaf and return to them.
but I decided to hear your voice
while my kingdom Rots and fades
While my people die and pray
I needed this getaway

my people, dying by my blade.
can’t stand them lookin’ up to me.
Their tears falling at my feet.
Them saying. “Please king, save me.”
praying “Don’t let them **** me.”
screaming. “They took my family!”
I wasn’t born to be a king.
I wasn’t born to be a king.
The siren sang her song to me.

There is a little boy kneeling in a chair playing with a toy tractor.
It keeps falling off the table
(Or he pushes it off)
Then he runs to pick it up and place it back on the table.
There is a diaper on the table.
(Which he also threw on the floor)
A baby has been placed at the table.
When asked the babys name, the little boy says:
"Robo Dog!"
I think that is an awesome name.
I wonder if when that baby grows up he will be emotionally unresponsive.
robotic
Charming player of a Dog
I won't follow these boys around their whole lives but assuming he is.
That little boy is a prophet.
So i'm watching the Prophet and Robo Dog
Throw things off the table and giggle.
Thinking about how simple
Pleasure can be for a child.
How intricate it can be for an adult.
When Prophet commands his Grammy to eat her bagel.
I cannot see them any more
They are sitting behind me in a booth
But I can only imagine she obliged
Or lifted to her mouth and pretended
I like to imagine this is Prophet and Robo Dogs first encounter with false truth.
But it looks like Prophet has a couple years of Holidays on Robo Dog
So that isn't quite true.

Of all the things you've looked at and said
"Wow, that's so beautiful."
How many are still there?
Ten?
Maybe just the ocean?

Picture a playground
Swing set jungle gym
Whatevers on a childrens playground
It's behind your house.
You go there twice a week

There's tutus and there's overalls
And there's little horses with springs on the bottom
That are slightly rusted
But they rock back and fourth and don't fall over anyway
Because they're so far
Dug down into that playground tar
It's just, permenant
It takes three men wearing orange vests to pull it out of the ground.
There are memories there.
Some of them are even caught on video
And you
You can't go there again

She finds the brightest star
Traces it's dotted lines
Grasping constellations yet to be
Longed after,
Naming them.

The Cigarette
Prayed too by the star captain,
Suave, compelling, proud.
Held close by the Escapist.
The comfort of the same circle of pain
with different faces,
friends wherever there's fire.

The Bottle
Held onto tightly when the chips are down
Rocking back and fourth, homeless
Good friend of the shopping cart
Of the Molotov cocktail burning bridges
Of the 2am revelry of loud sticky benches
Orange caution tape bump for consent

The Pacifier
A purse token for the forgotten children
Necklace neon green pink pigtails
The purest form of oral fixation.
Mother of the cigarette
Designed to cut words and part lips
Only comfort to give in return

Finding that balance between what feels good and what you need is harder than picking out an outfit in the morning.
Unless those outfits are all pretty slutty.
Then it's about the same,
the main difference being there's no real good solution.
Just a bad idea,
and a worse idea.
A low cut dress with no bra
Or a ruler width mini skirt over a thong.

I have always been a fan of extremes
so, I guess, between what I want
And what I need.

I'd wear the same outfit every day until it ripped,
got lost
or didn't fit me anymore.

And then I wouldn't wear anything.

Lets have rough ***
in the courtyard of our kingdom
while the peasants and jester watch.

"Is that the king?"
"Yes. Both of them,
****. Did he just hit h~?"
"Yup. That was a moan."
Pan flutes.
Lutes.
purple green and gold garb.
There's a bunch of knights training in archery
and somebody in a far corner of some ocean
plotting to ride their horses here and declare seige.
But right now
it's the first of may
and we're just throwing each other around on the grass
under the flag of our castle
that we founded on voyeurism and being good at what we do
Which today is rough ***
In the grass
Of a game of thrones set.

Look into the mirror and Smile
Greet every customer with a warm Smile
Close your eyes alone and Smile
Think about the war and Smile
Imagine your daughter and smile
Leave your troubles at the door and Smile
Black out, wake up without a mother and Smile
Smile for the camera
Smile
Smile
Smile
Look I know you're depressed but Smile
Maybe you'll be happier if you Smile
I heard you can trick your body's chemicals into thinking you're happy if you just Smile
I didn't say be happy, I said Smile

Smoke a cigarette and Smile
Look your ****** in the toes and Smile
Put your makeup on and Smile
Pour a fresh cup of coffee and Smile
Hold their hand, look at the stars and Smile
Shut the **** up and Smile
Sit at the bottom of your shower and Smile
Empty this bottle and Smile
Lose your lifes fourtune at blackjack and Smile
Take this pill and Smile

Stop Smiling
Why are you still Smiling?
Is that all you can ******* do?
SMILE?
Smile
Like this contortion of flesh is taking a punch
Smile
Because this curvature is a war on hatred
Smile
Like a curse word
Like body armor
Like a paycheck

Smile.

It's a bomb on your doorstep.
Wrapped up in a pastel pink and white blanket.
Swaddled in a babys basket
You don't even hear the ticking over all the babble
You just assumed it was designed to protect.
You never asked anyone
Or questioned where the basket came from.
Where it got this baby.
Why it is concealing it's wicker with this blanket.
You bring it inside.

tickTick tickTick
tickTick tickTick
tickTick tickTick

Wake up tossing and turning
hear a ticking downstairs
In your kitchen.
On the island.
"You're hearing things"
close your eyes.
It's too loud.
Walk down to see just a basket
A blanket
The baby is tucked in tight
You were hearing things
"Go back to bed sweety."
But the basket keeps ticking.
"Baskets are supposed to tick"
you never question it again.

tickTick tickTick
tickTick tickTick
tickTick tickTick

You never see it explode.
Just find and count the pieces
Wicker shrapnel where there should have been guidance.
Viscera where there should have been eyes.

When the first words out of his mouth was
"Sup *****"
I knew a certain few things

1. He was not getting laid tonight.

2. None of us in this room know why he's the party leader,
All glancing at each other in awe
nodding like a hive mind chanting
yes, this man is in fact an *******,
no, i don't know how he rose to power
yes, he did just call us *****.

3. I could think of a million one liners that would earn me way more respect up front than that.

I don't know what I was expecting
walking into this basement

Maybe some small fame
The same small fame I get from getting on a stage for slam poetry
or being cast in a reality T.v. show
Or singing kareoke at my local bar.

Maybe for the free pizza
We've all been there.

And yes, maybe it was for the revenge.
the campaign slogan you stamped
recruitment posters with.
Join the evil league of evil!
Launch revenge against the modern heroes of today!

But when I sit down in this small fold up metal lawn chair,
in what is presumably his moms basement
Behind a projecter  (also probablly his moms)
Next to captain nose bleed
And princess *******.

I already don't have a whole lot of faith in his agenda

So when his opening line
Was "Sup *****"
Like that is some sort of impressive villanous monolouge peared down into one and a half words.
I lost any ounce of faith I had in this cult.
And decided to Usurp this "Party Leader".

Now you might be asking:
Why?
Why would you want to be the head of the evil league of evil?
Founded in this pre pubescent boys moms basement
Whos only followers so far seem to be captain nosebleed,
and princess *******.

Well
clearly
You don't understand.
Captain nosebleed is already under the thumb of princess *******.
I mean lets be real without princess *******
We're three dudes in a basement
Pretending to be super villans.

And you've been known to be pretty charming.

But in your friends evil lair.
Sorry
Moms basement.

You start to evaluate your situation
Gotta make a descision.

Are you fighting for Revenge,
or the small fame?

I heard, he gets super social during the winter,
and then lives the single life during the summer.

I heard he's a social butterfly,
charming as a satyr

I heard he used to live in the white house

I heard he has the coordination of a God,
balance so awesome he could walk across mountains
climb trees

I heard he's a wicked hedonist.

I heard he can jump 5 feet high!

I heard he is brilliant, like rocket scientist brilliant
Like can con you out of your pants brilliant.

I heard he INVENTED COFFEE.

I heard he's super curious
open,
like if he sees something new he
HAS to explore it.

Yeah, I heard he'll try anything twice.

I heard his sister has a beard

I heard she's super dominant

I heard he doesn't cry
I heard he doesn't even have tear ducts

I heard he can learn his own name, and come to it.

I wish I could party with a goat.

You punched your mother in the face for trans rights.
you're really moving up
found out you had ******,
want to switch majors
skip town
leave your girlfriend and move in
with the affair
Good job.
you thought it was all an uphill from the bottom
like a country song
lost your grandma
lost your daughter
lost your job.
the roller coaster isn't that simple.
you'll lose your whole life here, kid.
go get tested, you'll figure it out.

smoke cigarettes, get a psychiatrist.
have another panic attack, they're good for ya.
punch your mother in the face, don't even get locked up
count the cuts on your hands
watch the blood pool around your knuckles

you did it because she wouldn't let you call your partner "they".
"Call her an It if you have to, just not they."
well you should have taken that as signature.
left her there wrong.
been higher and mightier,
but you recorded her.
caught it all on tape.
and now she's blocking the door.

She's softer than you remember
weaker
it isn't hard to get her off you
to move her
she can't hold you back.
she can't even cry.
you scream and she won't listen
still you're wrong
millions of voices are wrong to her
"society doesn't think that way nick.
YOU think that way."
"they'll stop saying they, if
YOU stop saying they."

Maybe that's why you fought so **** hard that night.
protecting the audio recording.
of you leading an army
alone
at your own mother.

Underneath millions of tiny spotlights we unearth our darkest secrets.
Tip toe unbound into the lake
White Freckled like a deer.
Her hips flirting just above the water.
Arms stretched up towards the moon.

She says:
"When the lunchbell rings
They lurk out of their door frames
Stretch their bones at the staff and moan
Like a horde of sorry forgotten ghosts.
Lingering in limbo.
Songs of unpet ownerless dogs
Waiting for anyone to come adopt them, rather than just be fed.

"I've known you for three hours and you're already fixing my mistakes." I say
When the advertisement for my call center plays in their REC hall
I promise my vitimans will make their children visit twice a week.
make them young and healthy.
And when they pay me my commission and it doesn't work.
You get to patch up the scars
no pill can heal.

She's sick of the suffering
Can't stand watering their caskets

Orange haired casino brokers set
Blue stages
Pink legs pole dance to
Purple music notes floating vibrations across faceless crowds.
You are among them.
Staring at the pink womans
Black stilettos throwing
Green at them.
Hoping they don't throw it back.

Fight or flight
A gut response.

I've bathed in hatred dressed like leathermans pointed at my ribcage.

Jumped off rooftops thinking the ground was softer than my future.

Told woman to choke me until I purple
Purple plays verb safer than run
Than scream
than remember.

When your sancuary
Has a spotlight on the one thing you've been escaping from.
Fight or flight.

"Hello"
You tap her shoulder.
Confirm she's not your hallucination.
You still aren't sure.
You couldn't touch long enough.

Do not ask.
"where is she?"
Or "so you're an alcohaulic now?"
Or "are you having a panic attack? Because I'm having a panic attack.
And you used to always have panic attacks.

Do not pose:
If I avoid the streets of an entire city
So I won't cross your path.
whether you are there or not.
See Your ghost in the deli,
Order gelato, carrying a carseat.
hear your name
reach out to thin air
that belongs in my lungs.

Why, beautiful disaster
Are you skipping your A.A. meeting
Sitting at this bar, that I call home.
Drinking on a stool that with one moment
Belongs to your ghost now.

how did you stumble into this bomb shelter?
Were the salt circles not enough to keep you out?
have I not been loud enough?
I preach the Gospel of this microphone.
Everyone within a ten mile radius of a screen
knows I come here at this time
on this day
every week

If you ever want to see me.
I'll be here.
I can't leave.

You can.
You don't have to.
I mean, I didn't invite you.
But when has that ever stopped you before?
If you need to face me head on.
Come.
I need you too.
Let's dance
Forget the empty dresser covered in princess stickers
Forget the swirling mattress of our lies and mistakes.
**** Google+
your perfect ***,
the photographs I can't delete.

Jump on this bar table with me.
Show them how it breaks under our weight.
Smash that beer against the wall
Jam the broken bottle in my ribs
I promise you.
I will ******* feel it.
If my blood doesn't spill out.
If my pain doesn't splatter this godamned stage.
If a single person in this room forgets
This dance
When we purple.
our bodies slammed off every dining room table
Shatter wine glasses into chapbooks
tear off your fake smiling mask
throw it at a nearby ******.
Naked screaming killing each other.
When we blackout.

your ghost will still be sitting at the godamned bar haunting me.

And it's funny
Why does it hurt?
It's not like I go a day
without seeing you anyway

The broncos won And I'm still at a dead end job
Didn't even watch the game, I was too busy
washing trash cans.
Heard about it through some magic rectangle.
The kids call "social media"

about all the different things
Lady Gaga looked like when
she sang the national anthem.
Heatmiser,
pizza rolls,
Dolly Parton
Because one time Dolly Parton wore a red suit, Which I thought was kind of a stretch.
I saw a commercial saying that more than
400,000 babies are born 9 months after the super bowl.
You know what else is right around that time in February?
Valentine's day
I don't think I've ever been less ****
than during the super bowl.
Nobody looks at their man
Half covered in Beer and nacho grease stains
And goes "oh baby,
that buffalo sauce gets me so wet"
"I just wanna grab a fist full of your hair
bend you over these pizza boxes an~"
"No"
"No"
"N~I mean, I'd be into it"
"No"

My girlfriend is in Florida working for Disney right now.
They have her doing laundry in a musty basement with
middle aged Mexican woman.
It's apparently awful.
"Ruins the magic" she says.
Seeing cinderella scurrying around half naked
doing her make up
Wig cap and undergarments.
Snow white with her nose up
asking for kombucha
Won't even make eye contact with the laundry vets
Let alone my intern girlfriend.
Who says these princesses
would sooner **** a man covered in nacho grease.
Then show her any respect.

I asked how the magic wasn't ruined before that.
After watching the play hairspray
when they yell
"CUT! "
and the actors go back to their miserable lives, 
I figured it out pretty young.
This middle class manifesto
Where making a livable wage is our life term goal.
But she is the faithful type.
Loves her a good miracle.

Like when she found out she was pregnant.
Was
She had already lost him.
Or her
I was over 3,000 miles away
With another man
she was drinking herself to sleep
Praying to some porcelain god for me to stop
I'm sure the morning sickness didn't help
Her depression
Or hangovers.
Or the will to tell me, The man already greiving over one lost daughter
we had lost another.
Before we even knew she was there.
I only tell her I love her.

She says she needs me around
because I’m a taurus.
I have no idea what she means by that.
But I love hearing stories about mexican woman yelling in spanish at their iphone screens
half naked princesses doing their makeup in hair nets.
And her still believing in magic.
She gives me something to dream about
while I wash these trash cans.

Like watching hairspray together
Her bending me over some chicken wings.
Our little Princess.

I let the old pain fester.
Like a wound that hasn't been cleaned out.
Take a swig from my whiskey bottle
turn my back to the nearest ***** man.
As he ***** me silent
I am porcelain.

Tonight, i'm prey
Let somebody make me uneasy
So that I may live in
Mismatch colored socks.
Mini skirts, yoga pants,

This man is ******* me numb.
Past life blackout
He Certainly won't retain any sort of name.
I pretend his fingertips are mine.
That his body is plastic.
walls like siliphane body bags
To hoist me from this whirlwind nightmare.
I should have said No.
instead I said just **** and **** me.
So It continued until I felt like being a corpse was a better alternative to my numbness.
Hoped for a burning.
Or a lynch in the knuckle bones of a crossdressed Reaper.
Won't dwell on tonight.
Put a smelly blanket over this new pain
Remember the familiar stuff.
It's older.
knows I want to forget.

Let me paint you a picture of this girl.

Imagine a witches cauldron
Heavy, haunting, metal.
Make it as big as a hot tub
As big as three hot tubs.
Fill it with a bright bubbling yellow cream.
picture yourself standing in it.
thick stringy mucus elastics from your wrists.
As you cook.
She is singing.
You are quicksand bound to this 90 degree boiling snot bucket
And she's singing.

Brown purple and green
Dancing in dreadlocks
Sprinkling a little clamshell of mermaid.
Cod peice of Prince
Naked now.
Starring at you.
Almost asking.
Mostly stirring in her own devices.

The cauldron smells less like boiling flesh then you expected.
It's more like a sweet hazey butter scent.
Like autumn squash.

This whole time you couldn't move, but now you don't want to.
She's so beautiful, dancing
Her small perky chest and curved swinging hips.
A tattoo, or a birthmark just above right where you want to kiss.

She traces your chin to tell you something.
You try so hard to listen over the crackling and popping of the thick yellow cream surrounding you.
With a soft whimper,
Biting your lip
Pulling your hair
Straight down back
Into the scalding liquid
goodbye into the melting ***.
Your eyes glaze over
Breath hot Thick Mucus into your throat.
Choke on the yellow soup.

And when you wake up.
your memory is of singing.
The brown green purple notes.
Her Perky chest, curved hips
Dancing.
A tattoo, or a birthmark,
Fuzzy, like you forgot some of the details.
You wish you could see her again.
Maybe it will help you remember.

Should I hang with my friend who I haven't seen in a year or go meet this tinder girl?
Someone New - Hozier

I just can't put my finger on it.
something about her is goregous.
Baby Got Back - Jonathon Coulton

You're right. It's totally her ***.
Ugly Faces - Watsky

Shh, spotify, be nice. It's not her fault.
Do Better - Say Anything

Okay okay, you're right. I'll bring her home.
All Time Low - Jon Bellion

Oh c'mon, She's not that bad...
Proove Me Wrong - Dub FX

Well like... her personality is pretty cute.
Some Girls Are Crazy - Echo Movement

I can't beleive I just had *** in my backseat.
Glad You Came - The Wanted

Yikes. All the girls dropped from this party. it's just gonna be me and my three dude friends.
To Many ***** On The Dancefloor - Flight Of The Concords

I completely agree. Should i go or just come up with a ****** excuse to leave?
You Don't Have To Be A ******* - Flight Of The Concords

You're right i'll leave. What should i tell them?
Working - I Fight Dragons

No i already told them i got the day off. That wouldn't work.
My Buddy's Back - Big D and The Kids Table

Oh perfect!
Sleepyhead - Passion Pit

Yeah I should go to bed.
Let me finish this poem first.
Go To Bed - Ookla The Mok

I'm stuck on this line.
What's a good word to describe Port Veritas? Like... one word?
Home - Phillip Phillips.

That's adorable... you're so right.
See You Again - Wiz Kahlifa

******* spotify that was super uncalled for. Now i'm bummed out.
Get Over It - Ok Go

Dude. That's like super insensitive
Ungrateful - Streetlight Manifesto

No i'm not ungrateful. I love you, you just don't need to make me cry when i'm down in the dumps like that.
Lean Into The Fall - Mona

I guess you're right. Fine. Thank you.
All The Stars In Texas - Ludo

That's the nicest thing that anyones ever said to me. I like when you do that.
Like or Like Like - Miniature Tigers

Uhh, i guess like like. You're pretty much my favorite app.
R U Mine? - Arctic Monleys.

I think maybe you're moving a little fast spotify... i don't think I'm ready for that kind of commitment.
I Wanna Be Yours - Arctic Monkeys

This is getting weird. I'm going to bed.
I Will Follow You Into The Dark - Death Cab For Cutie

Okay no, seriously i'm turning you off.
*Don't Unplug Me - All Caps.

If you really want me
to waste your time with my superficial sense of adventure

developed over 20 years as the
perfect formula for fun, alright.
I promise you'll see right through it.

You'll realize in a second that all we really need
is whiskey
Netflix
That all these road trips
cigarettes
rooftops mean nothing
give us nothing.
On a regular basis I'd walk in on you cuddling reptiles that litterally can't have any compassion for you.
isn't it just like you to have
compassion for
something that
can't
love
you
back.

I'm not the charecature you deserve

I'm not jacked or covered in ink.
My battlescars aren't from poverty or violence, or consequences of just generally being a bad person.

My "battle scars" are all from loving too much.
I'm so naive that I think they're just as awful as anybody elses.

You won't love me.
Don't get me wrong
If you were truly interested
I'd show up wearing
a box of chocolates in my hands
and not much else.

You are a goddess.
have absolutely no reason to be looking up to me.
I am not that interesting.
It's all a game.
you've been alive long enough to know
the game is *******.

I'm flattered by your peaked interest, willing
to give you the night of your life.
Something tells me you want more than just flashy lights on blank canvas

You want stardust.
Yes, I'll look at the sky with you.
So you might find what you really want.

Why am I still ******* to you?
I hate that you're beautiful.
that I'm too weak to delete this picture.
That the most intimate thing left of you
is your body.
After four years of living out every fantasy.
A home,
baby,
making dinner,
fighting,
making up,
waking up next to you.
All i'm left with
is this carnal desire to possess you again
like you used to belong to me.
And isn't that the worst thing.
Isn't that the whole reason I left in the first place.
Because we both knew that nobody belongs to anyone.
Yet after all my grieving
All my lovers between now and then.
This is the memory I cherrish most.
This last chance to steal you.
When we were already breaking We thought it might save us.
How foolish we were.
See in the picture you can tell we were breaking.
Your eyes begging to forget.
Just like I beg to forget you.

The first time I saw you walk into a room
I deleted all the naked photographs of my ex lover in that instant.
Just in case you checked.
Just in case I flirted with you.

No girl has earned that same memory.

It belongs to you.
See, memories you can claim.
But not people.

The time you refused to accept
blankets between us and the cold ground
of our tent would keep us warmer
than piling them all on top of us.
That we can keep.
That mistake belongs to us.

The night we took this photograph.
The curvature of your hips.
Your arms hung dead like the maronette strings snapped that day.

That's a memory That i've captured.
See, even though you're gone and I don't have you.
I have this picture.

Why is it that i can go every day of my life loving people for who they are.
Seeing their dreams and past lives.

But with you
Blood.
I see this carnal need to devour you
like some delicacy.
Some favorite dish.

I hate that you're still beautiful.
I hate that you turn me into this monster.

One who sees girl as flesh not human.
Bones as shield not structure.

And it's only you.
This one thing i hate.
Who I need to ****.
Who I need to possess again.

I'm so glad I left you.
Glad I killed the monster.
But I can't delete this picture.

Every lonely night That I would cry alone and miss you, I don't.
I crave you instead.
Claw into your flesh
pull out a still regretably beating heart.

I feed it to this beast.
That demands you dehumanized.
pray I never see you in real life again.
fear that may be the last day I'm human.

In an oversized denim jacket Stands
a girl who treats kisses
like handshakes.
She's young.
With makeup done perfectlly
hidden beneath a baseball cap.
I wish for her to treat I love you like thank yous
so that she has her heart broken less often.
So she may pay attention to what all the men are thankful for
So she can hang on to one that's thankful for more than just
She treats kisses like handshakes.

This morning brought to you by a lack of everything.
Also forgiving every customer solely on the basis that they haven't had coffee yet.
Like Oprah Winfrey is in my blood handing out second chances.
"You get a smile!"
"You get a smile"
"Go **** Y!~ ou get a smile!."
Because we've all been there. Pre-Java grump at everything.
So I guess what i'm saying is...
Rich white people who probably won't read this....
I get you.... you're welcome for the coffee and optimism.
I hope you pay it forward in some way...
May my smile and
My compliment of your expensive jewelry transmorph through your ears into your brain and out your mouth at...
A fellow employee
Or
Your children
Or
Your husband.
May they see you significantly after you drink this coffee.
Which I did not. could not. possibly tamper with. (Hehe. Tamper)
Because this is self serve.
So, "Go S*rve Yourself."
And have a nice day.

The broncos won and I'm still at a dead end job
Didn't even watch the game, I was washing trash cans.
Heard about it through social media
About all the different things lady gaga looked like when she sang the national anthem.
Heatmiser, pizza rolls, dolly parton
Because one time dolly parton wore a red suit.
Which i thought was kind of a stretch
But i've read stupider things on the internet so i let it slide
I saw a commercial saying that tons of babies are born 9 months after the super bowl.
You know what else is right around that time in February?
Valentine's day
I don't think i've ever been less **** than during the super bowl.
Nobody looks at their man covered in nacho grease and beer stains and goes
"Oh yeah!" Its baby making time!
My girlfriend is in Florida working for Disney right now.
Thy have her doing laundry in a musty basement with middle aged Mexican woman.
It's apparently awful.
Ruins the magic she says.
Seeing cinderella scurrying around half naked doing her make up.
Wig cap and undergarments
Snow white with her nose up asking for kombucha.
Won't even make eye contact with the laundry vets.
Let alone my intern girlfriend.
I asked how the magic wasn't ruined before that.
After watching the play hairspray when they yell cut and
All the actors go back to their miserable lives, i figured it out pretty young.
This middle class manifesto
Where making 15 dollars an hour is a goal.
But she is the faithful type.
Loves her a good hoping.
That's why she hasn't cut me loose anyway.
She says she needs me around because i'm a taurus.
I have no idea what she means by that.
But i love hearing stories about mexican woman yelling in spanish at their iphone screens. And half naked princesses doing their makeup in hair nets. And her still believing in magic. I think it says a lot about her.
She gives me something to dream about while I wash these trash cans.

The professor said
"Family therapy is like a Pie Graph
Everyone in the family contributes their own piece of pie.
When people leave
there's a chunk of pie missing
and the other members of the family
have to take on some of those roles to fill the pie."

Here's my theory:
Everyone in the family has their own whole pie.
Categorizes each housemate as a piece of it.
how they view them in their family.
how they relate to them,

Imagine a home
Mom and her four daughters.
Step dad, his daughter and son.
imagine three bedrooms.
The adults taking up one of them.

let's look at the Mother,
Her four daughters
all with different fathers
she knows how to raise children.

The daughters all know how to
Be
Children, be
Sisters, be
older or younger than each other.
The step-father knows how to have
A Wife,
One Daughter,
A Son.

Well Step-brother leaves the house.

Susie has a child at fifteen.
what does
her pie look like now?

She used to have a boyfriend,
four sisters,
a mother, father.
Now lost a brother
gained a baby.
She only knows how to be a child.

let's look at the mother.
She hasn't learned: Grandchild
but she knows how to raise a baby.

lets look at the step-father, lost his son, gained four daughters,
what's another one?

The sisters, lost their brother, a role model.
Exchanged for this this new baby.
another sister?

everyone's pie is empty in some parts.
judging by some other
dead white guys theory
when who you are doesn't line up
with who you see yourself as,
that's when people develop
Mental illness

Well I wouldn't call it ill, but let's count the bruises.
That baby is going to grow up as her mother's sister.
Suzie is going to seek the comfort of men.
Her sisters are going to constantly fight between calling themselves auntie
and Big Sis.
like tossing themselves on either side of the barbed wire fence is cause for death.

The farther we go back in each family member's backstory
the more slivers of pie we find
Georgia has autism,
Carley diagnosed depression,
Rosie an abusive relationship of 10 years.
Clover is quiet.
The Brother, schizophrenic, autistic, bipolar.
Any number of names they can slap on him.
He doesn't live there anyhow.
isn't human.

Muffle the sister that says she miss him.
hit her, cut her, lock her up.

This was a case study.
I lived with this family for four years.
unintentionally filled up parts of their pie.
I was Son.
Older brother.
Boyfriend.
Father.

When I stopped being a fly on the wall
Stopped seeing how their story was developing.

I didn't have any pie left.

Keep chanting your submerged voices.
Lonely in the back of the room.
Too loud now
To hear the folklore.
Let them paint you poisen.
Label you the enemy.
Let them get high off the scent of rebellion.
They think we had our day.
That it's time for an uproot, a change.
When we're done letting them speak.
Let's hold a wedding in their honnor.
May no man leave unbled.

Let blood be blood.
Let it not be a metaphor for coming of age.
Let it not be a phobia,
nor trigger nor gang.
Let blood be blood.

Let a cat be a cat.
Let your house smell like ammonia.
Let it claw your carpet.
Let it cure your anxiety.
Let it knock over grandpa.

Let ashes be ashes.
Let dust be dust.
Let a vacuum be a vacuum.
Let a soul be a soul.
Let blood be blood.

Let a baby be a baby.
Let it crawl around and do baby ****.
Let a tantrum be a tantrum.
Let ***** be *****.
Let a mother be a mother.

Let a bigot be a bigot.
Let an opinion be an opinion.
Let a fire be a fire.
Let an ******* be an *******.
Let a woman be a woman.

Let a cow be a cow.
Yes he does use he pronouns now.
Let the utter be an utter.
Let the bull be a bull.
Let the cow be a bull.

Let a podium be a podium.
Let a speech be a speech.
Let a poet be a poet.
Let a revolution be a revolution.
Let blood be blood.

Miles of indigo ocean floss the urchins from its rocky teeth
cracked, aged, sturdy

like our captain
unwavered by the changing tides
wrinkles deep in his eyes
skin dry from the salt of the blue.

The ship a knotty brown, pointed like a tri-corn hat. Roguishly handsome like it could Woo the sea.

Our captain sang stories
of the ship's past lives before its soul
settled into our vessel.
His adventures hearing mermaids
Lured under to their beauty.
Most men be tranced by their call
lost forever in their seaweed chains,
not this Stone-hearted Charmer.
With swiftness of a thief
his smirk toss the sirens under his thumb.

Johnny Two Leg sticks his knife into the lid of a large barrel
prys it open.

Maggots wriggle under the dark of it's planks.
Rot cotton forming in their crevasses.

"Another day another barrel" Johnny sigh to himself
lid clanking against the deck.

This will be the crew's rations.

Sing songing men with their plenty red wenches toss back tankards on board.
Their song isn't flashy,
not even practiced,
they just want their tales to be heard.
A chorus, or chant repeats between stories.
Some simpler, some scary, some tall.
Each member of crew taking turns with their voice boxes, scratching the black liquor walls.

Johnny Two Leg plunks the barrel center of the crowd
a loud cheering erupts.
The poor boy who was staged on a chair belting limerick of his most recent love affair has his stool politely kicked, knocking him prone,
causing a nearby member
or four to laugh.

"If a man is a song, is he really dead?"
booms our captain through the bustle. touching Johnny Two Legs back,
giving a smile as he walk past.

We form a line as he hand us vials from the barrel

thumb the frosty glass
pop cork unleashing purple mist tendrils that spiral round like a serpent's tail

look to our captain in devotion
who holds his vial out proud.
Johnny Two Leg stands prouder,
glowing for the captain.
The poor boy stand bright eyed, clutching.
Together we swig back the poison

give our souls to the next vessel
be it castle, sword, or ship.
They'll sing about us
of hearts calloused harder than oceans teeth
voices louder than the reddest haired *****
passion hotter than the fires of hell.

When their lungs grow tired of our song, remind them
'fore we faired the sea under their new flag
we breathed oceans of wisdom
devout to this Knotty Tri-corn Rogue.
May his story never die.