Am I a good person?

Underneath all these layers
(The layers of an onion)
[Like Shrek, full of layers]
-pretty sure the onion quote is dead-

I don't want you
to remove my layers
to find a person that
isn't the same on the outside.

Onions are perfect
because with each layer
they look exactly alike.

If you took me apart
we'd find the person
I think you want me to be.
(If you took me apart you'd be a murderer)
[Don't try to find out, organs don't talk.]
-The mess would be such a hassle-

I wish someone could tell me.
It's all in the way,
these layers
they're all that we have.

If I was honest,
which I will be.
(since no one I know will read this.)
[Isn't that too true for most of us.]
-I think it is-

I'm a glutton,
not of food or abuse;
it's for one more second
one more thought.

I'll always steal
one more glance,
one more sip,
one more breath,
one more kiss
more.

If I hear a new song
it'll become my anthem,
the band will play
and play
and play
play.

I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
love.

Everything
will be everything
every,
eve.

You'll be late to work
your coffee will be cold
(or warm if it's iced).
[If it's tea, it'll be too strong]
-I don't know how tea works-

I can't steal
it wouldn't be right
so please.
please.
please.
don't.

You can't know me.
It's simply not possible.

You can know my name.
My desire.
Needs.
Even how I take coffee in the morning.
(I don't drink coffee.)

You could call me
your friend,
maybe best friend,
or even lover.
(I am, what you ask.)

I could become a beacon
of undeniable hope,
an admirable force
defying odds never even imagined.
(I have a flashlight somewhere.)

Sadly.
Distance.
Will keep it all away.



Do you drink coffee in the morning?

I thought about speaking to the reader.

To the person skimming titles
that might suit their current feelings.

Maybe it's heartbreak, which I say
maybe it's time for a heart - break.

If you ever said you didn't want to do something,
I want to be the person asking you WHY.

Why, do you not want to do it?
Why why why, what else do you have to do?

I don't mean to pressure you into a forced response.
I'm not an abusive parent or spouse, (where talking it out means, verbally beating you into submission).

I only ask why, because I want you to know.
That every action is a decision.
A choice made by you.

I made the choice to
share ****** poetry,
and you made the choice to read it.

If we're both willing
to spend our time
on things like these,
then maybe
we should change
what we choose to do.

Do what is right.
Be passionate,
don't let titles lead you,
and **** heartbreaks.

You can't do anything without the right thought.

Buddy, ole boy, or girl.

Doesn't that make too much sense,
you'll be unable to do a thing -
unless - unless you get hit by a train
a ******* void needs to land right inside of you.

A mystical being is coming for your mind,
and they are cracking skulls.
All in the prayer, that you'll figure out
that nothing from nothing is NOTHING.
Think something - think.

Beg, gravel, google
(The word is grovel, Google told me that.)

Drugs aren't words,
Netflix is inspiration,
Twitter can be a placebo,
and these can be your infinity.

Jokes pre 2000.
Memes post colonization.
Capture. Hold. Choke. Make a house pet.
Loved, but no companionship.
A corner, house plant, no sunshine necessary.

Agree with me.
or not,
I'd rather You struggle.

At least that way.
You'll fight to have your own thoughts.

We will always take for granted
the unreal people
that filter through our lives
each and every day,
where motion pictures
show us to never give up.

The irony is that it's not faux people
that lead us to believe in magic,
it was the real people behind the fake
that chose to keep the music flowing.

Who knows who they really are;
it doesn't matter when it's about
life or living for nothing.

If there's something to learn -
it's to learn to take chances.

Doing nothing is simple and tedious.
Opportunity is purpose and effortless.

Risk less, chance more.

Artistically,

being a child is something always
painted to be one of flesh wounds;
one bouncing between hyper activity,
and being bewildered by a snail
after the sprinklers have gone off in the morning.

Maybe the precious life
that fills their lungs -
refreshes a child's waking moments
is rewritten to be poetry; folks panhandling for distance memories always better than ones they hold today.

We find their outlandish thoughts
to be ones of tomfoolery.
Looking at children with eyes that do not see them as people.
Instead we milk our own absurdity for rewritten nostalgia.  

Please,

Stop. Remember. There is nothing to lose, which has not already been lost before.  If it can be gained once. So may it be done again.

Children are not children
because of age or inexperience
they are everything we aspire to be,
and that is to be free.