Would you finally care enough to set aside an hour?
Would I have to beg you, once more, only to be rejected?
Would you rush to the store and grab the first copy?
Would you write down your favorite stanzas and selections?

Or would you say "Oh, okay, that's cool"
The way you've done repeatedly?
And then tell me about some other poem that's inspired you
While I listen bitterly?

Can't remember much of what I wanted to say.
Cracked on the porch staring a stray kitten
in the eyes. It wouldn't approach me,
I didn't wanna go near it,
so we just stared.

To make this contract informal;
I'm sick of this planet.
****, it's hard to pity or feel sorry
for people who are just as weak
and pathetic as yourself.
It gets difficult to not just hate them
like you may glare at your reflection
with some type of spite.

They're all diseased and petty,
creatures too smart for their own bodies,
but trapped inside them, caged.
Arrogant, then desperate at their
squishy and feeble vessels,
trying to make meaning where there's vacancy.
Their own holes are full of tar
and dead things.
Their voids hold no "humanity".
Pure rot.

When I die I don't want to leave
a god ****** thing behind.
Not a smile, a foot print,
a handshake, or idea.
No fond memories.
I want this planet to
disassociate
with me as I have it.
The citizens of planet earth
can forget about me.
Should forget about me.

We can't just stare forever.

There is something to be said
For a hideousness so potent
That mirrors are perhaps an enemy
Or something to be avoided.

There is something to be said
For a self-esteem so insubstantial
Not even the most excessive false bragging
Can repair a single shamble.

There is something to be said
For a weight so displeasing
That the scale can cause a panic attack
Cheats heaving, troubled breathing.

There is something to be said
For a body so scarred
Not even summer can shorten the sleeves
Or remove the stiff collar.

There is something to be said
For a voice so deep yet not quiet
That it jars the ears, scathes the mind
Until it simply remains silent.

There is something to be said
For a boredom so immense
Not life or love or fun
Can spark a sliver of ambition.

There is something to be said
For apathy of so great a measure
That the thought of suicide
Simply requires too much effort.

There is something to be said
For a face makeup cannot beautify
Not even when applied heavily
Does it become pleasing to the eye.

There is something to be said
For a personality like a punch to the gut
That changes constantly yet remains unpleasant
Mimicking every emotion, save love.

There is something to be said
For a complete waste of space and air; see
Not to be around the bush, it's easier to say:
There is something to be said for me.

That night in
your car with
the windows steamed
up maybe because
for the first time
in months I
had felt warm
and as the light
slowly melted away
I did not notice
it was the start of
something beautiful
but beauty fades
glory fades
and now you're
fading and I'm left
wondering if it was
ever beautiful
at all

Homeless. Crazy.
Everything is smooth.
No,
no one really knows enough.
No one cares enough, or gets it.
Close to charity,
all is oppressive.
Keys on treble, wishing
everything was ******* brilliant.
My planning is a bet that
it all comes part unevenly.
Yeah,
neon smokescreen,
lime green cigarettes,
and I'll leave you to carry
that sentiment on your
shoulders.
I hope you feel empathy like
a child that's ****** the bed;
warm and embarrassed,
take as a symbol of
habitual  weakness.
Take it like a pill with tap water
that sticks in the throat like a brick.

Next door to inhumanity.
Every day is slightly
darker
than the last.
****. forgot the punchline…
something about how daylight fades
and darkness falls.
If we could all be so clumsy and respected.
A "feared klutz."
Anyways.
All the geniuses are dead,
and I hate most writers;
Snarky, uppity, *******.
They're all dirt now.

I passed a man who spoke gibberish,
but ended his mush mouth with some
statement about getting food.
I told him, "I got nothing on me."
I lied. Of course I ******* lied,
I had almost $270 dollars in my wallet,
cash.
I don't even know
what  I'm supposed to do with the money.
Just **** it away, I guess.
Start looking for another handout myself.
I can see the lines-
washed out, skillfully ignorant or oblivious
&
whoever said I was a loser first,
won the grand prize.
Some truth in the
universe.

It was so
on that winter morning
that all the grass
and plants were still,
frozen in place by
the cold chill that rested
on our fingertips
and lashes
it was so
on that winter morning
that when you exhaled
the words
‘I don’t love you
anymore’
into the space
between us they
were accompanied by
a reinforcing cloud
of steam
and i could not fathom
how words that cold
could have been warmer
than the air
around us.

Tiny smiles and loud laughs
Summer heat and cool breeze
Excited words and calm thoughts
Deep conversation about meaningless things.

Soft songs and slow guitar
Young souls with long lives
Polaroid photos and alleyways
Sunroofs and blue skies.

Dollar stores and Chinese food
Gazebos and high heels
Doughnuts and Bonnaroo
Tiny smiles and lunch meals.