People who think my poemz are dumb are jerkz
Cuz they don't even no how smart eye ham hahahahahaha

I am bound to a wheelchair
Okay, that is a lie
But I do drive a Cadillac
It has a wheel and there's a chair I sit behind
It's a wheelchair
I win

I am insane for you, whoever you may be, baby
I'm all about gambling tonight
And every other night
Shaking and baking
It's what I gotta do
**** eye waz never faking
When I said that I love you
Whoever you may be, baby

Everything is probably my fault, so it's okay to blame me, like some sort of beautiful Amy who will not forgive me; even though she said she would or did or whatever.
I am so stupid.
I remind her of her father, even though I was hoping that I reminded her of her future husband or something.
Whatever.
Marriage is for gay people

This is for no one but me...and I will have anyone who is caught hacking any of my computers thrown directly into one of the jails for life. Part of me, on the inside, screams nearly endlessly in such a spectacular fashion; I just have to deal with it or I will die and everything...but not forever...because my spirit will simply depart from this vessel and I’ll probably take shape somewhere else in the universe. I have the final word and say and everything about my life and/or existence so I gotta make it really great or I’m a loser.
I don’t wanna be a loser; no one does...not even losers.
Why do I feel like screaming and who or what do I feel like screaming to or at?
Things are so crazy. I don’t even know what to do with my time. I have been here for so long. I hope things go from good or okay to amazing and happy. What do I have to worry about? What am I doing right or wrong? These are good questions. I don’t have all the answers. Sometimes I barely know what to do. Are things better or worse?
I make a lot of decisions...even if it doesn’t seem like I do.
This is the type of thing you’d wanna do with something like this. The statue on my desk rattles too much as I type. I don’t like it...like the statue...just not the way it rattles. The problem is solved because I just repositioned the statue in such a way that it no longer rattles against the wall.
All I care about is typing.

That’s really cool, man...so cool I can hardly believe it.
Have I been making too much noise or something?
Do I even have enough dignity or not? Am I even very dignified at all? What does dignity even mean? I seriously have no idea. I am trapped with the knowledge. I like pills a lot. I know how to do stuff, even though I don’t have any money, which ***** because I need money so I can buy stuff. I don’t know what to do about it. Sometimes things are just way beyond my control. Like what? Things I can’t grasp or see or get to or whatever. I already need another cigarette. Cigarrettes are good for the health.
The smallest things can really uspet me over time. I get really sick of things.
I am not doing anything wrong...which is the right way to do things.
I just went downstairs and made myself a spot of tea. I never did abandon my boy. I don’t wanna be a loser. I’m leaving you behind. **** like this is why I want to **** myself. I want to commit suicide because my car won’t start...even though I have been watching so many YouTube videos about it. Mechanics...it really is a tough business. I just need to keep my cool and have some faith that everything will work out okay. \I keep us together...whatever it takes.
She said if we’re
I need to get my car started or I’ll **** myself.
My car is still not running so I have to **** myself immediately.

I was raised by a mentally ill father.
Because there is comfort in numbers,
I, too, was afflicted by a similar disorder.
It’s difficult to separate the person from the sickness,
Sometimes impossible.
Sometimes we become the shadowy monster,
Embrace it with wilted roses,
Knowing too well that of everything else,
The disorder will still be there,
Waiting.
My shadow has been dormant.
My father’s is still active,
Seeking.
Sometimes when we meet it’s like a perfect storm,
A tornado of comfort.
Someone understands the climate.
I take my father’s hand encouragingly,
He turns to run, squirrely,
The shadow greets me with open arms.
I love the shadow as much as I love the man.
After all, there is comfort in numbers.