I'm sorry
I can't be a bad boy
for you
I'm not the kind
of reclamation project
that women dream of
reclaiming
It's the attitude you crave
not the mood
I've been manufacturing
this bad boy body
for two months
Who am I fooling?
It's the mind
where the fantasies
and possibilities
take shape
Even though I've flashed
a knife at a bad boy
it doesn't matter
for I wasn't the bad boy
nor am I a rock star
or a pro athlete
or a student
who wears detention
like a badge of honour
I'm a ******* poet
and who wants a holder
of fantasies that have already
been disclosed?
I'm sorry
I'll make it up to you
I'll be the ear you require
when your heart is broken
I'll be the nodder
you require
when you need to make it clear
that all guys are *****
even though it was the *****
you were hypnotized by
in the first place
Bad boy body?
Bad boy language?
It's doesn't mean a ****
for it's all in the mind
Who am I fooling?
You'll be okay
for the sea is teeming
with jellyfish

The way the sun breaks through
Clouds dark with rain

Above a city that doesn't mind
Either

Reminds me that somewhere 
Something

Really good is happening
To someone deserving

Right
Now

Funny how a four year old
Can answer "because that's
Just what that does" to a

Question, knowing full well
That the grown up is the
Spiteful one, who refuses to

Hear such solid
Truth and find it
Enough.

Your life began when the first
Grown up eyes fell upon your

Words and welled up with
Parental pride.

You knew you could speak
To feelings; even an adult's.

Every word you'll ever throw
From your heart will hit

At least another. Every feeling
You form into a sword and ******

At the neck of an enemy of a cause;
A love; a matter; a moment

A call to gathering,
Will draw blood.  

Young poet, yours is the oldest of
Souls. You see the clearest; speak

The loudest, hear the most. Write,
Just write! Some arrows will hit

Heart, but you have a shielding legion
Around you, to take the bullets,

Blades and critisism hurled against
You; you are not alone.

Write. Grow. It's a universe that hungers
For your every little word.

Sometimes desires can be cruel
Tugging you towards the blind alley
Mind is in conflict with the heart
Dragging you along the ground
Getting bruised all over by desire
And the heart somehow craves
To walk the path towards rejection
Living in the world of denial
The whole world turns a blind eye
Hurling down the path to oblivion
Bearing the brunt of collision
Waking up from stupor quite late