Senryus about those
capricious creatures that rule
over our lives - our moms.

Studying. My phone
beeps, I look at it - mom says,
- "you've been texting!" Argh!

Mom: "Why is it - that
everything is on the floor?"
Me: thinking... "gravity?"

"SORRY!, how could I
know answering your question
would be talking back??"

My mom can hear me
mumble a mile away but
can't hear me yell "what"?

No, I'm not ok.
It's amazing what a
smile can hide.

Monsters aren't under
your bed - they're in your head
And hard to ignore.

No one really knows
you until you show them your
internal, dark side.

A party scene, in
Senryus - from last March, when a
party could happen.

He looked at me
like a treat. “You,” he said,
are looking hot girl!"

“I’m only hot in
in the dazzling reflection
of your lust,” I said.

“Then you’re on
FIRE,” he said as he put
his hands on my hips.

“Your girlfriend’s looking,”
I said, - she and I nodded.
His hands retracted.

He brushed his hair
back over his ears, "some
other time.” he said.

“He was set to Jump
you,” My friend Kim teased, "No,
not really.” I shrugged.

"You disappointed?"
I snorted "yeah right,
His GF was watching."

"OH!," Kim realized,
"You were posing!! You're
STILL a ****** - I KNOW!!”

“SHUT UP!!” I laughed,
putting a hand to her lips,
“That’s secret info!”

“Sophomores are
ALWAYS virgins.” Kim said, “Not
Lisa, of course."

We turned, smiled,
and waved at Lisa - she
was dating three guys.

Kim says, “She could give
us both one.” "Leftovers," I
said, “should mean pizza.”

This actual poet writes me silly poems.
He's there and I can't explain it.
A lifetime of experience and things lived I only imagine
and this actual, famous, poet writes me silly poems.

I wonder why me??  Why is he wasting time with me?
This sapient, hopelessly encouraging, ego-boosting poet
who writes me silly poems.

It's confusing.
My mind paints countless canvases of doubt,
like our connection is fragile tissue, perishable suds.
Surely one day I will find him bored and gone.
This actual, famous poet that writes me silly poems.

I’m in LOVE - drunk love,
look stupid love - and I
expect a harsh trial.

A hurricane is
due - the sky is coldly-gray,
and the wind is fierce.

Tech issues have school
on hold and walking is a
peak-experience.

Then - the blue gray truck
rounds the corner and I’m hit
with Christmas-like joy.

I LOVE shopping,
like a lush loves drink or a
gambler loves risk.

It’s nigh ******.
How can YOU resist it? Please
- tell me your secret??!!

** Amazon trucks are blue gray =]

A lot of people hate algebra - they think it isn't useful.

They are SO wrong - here is some practical Algebra:

Chocolate comes from Cocoa,
which grows on a tree,
which is a plant,
therefore:  Chocolate is a salad.

You're welcome.

Sometimes I
want to yell "I don't care"
in my mom's face.

When she blithely tries
to measure my sad prison
world to her own youth.

That prehistoric
reality, of phonebooths and
whatever, back then.

But I know those
words would freeze in the air
like a neon sign.

And very probably be
etched on my tombstone
as an epitaph.