I kind of wish I'd kissed you goodbye long enough for you to miss that train.
The next one would be there in 10 minutes but 10 minutes more with you would be paradise.
And I know you're out there living your dreams,
And I'm here trying to stop reminiscing over every second we spent together.
It's really difficult lately..
To walk around this city without feeling happy or sad..
Without thinking of where we kissed.
Which was kind of everywhere.
Ha!
But I guess what I'm trying to say is I miss you.
And that wasn't goodbye,
See you soon.
Or see you later as you put it.
Can later come already?

You bought me sunflowers last Saturday
because you like the yellow orchestra we can
listen to, but you do not have to direct.
It plays a private concert only for you.
I play a few notes here and there too,
but nothing can compare to sunflowers.

I compare lots of things to
flowers,
like your eyes.
You do something to my insides
I cannot explain
in a metaphor to flowers.

You planted a gilded seed.
It grew faster than any ****;
more delicious than homemade irish mead.

Sun shining, birds chirping, children playing-
all of this-
sounds like life’s decaying
because you’re not next to me.

You make oxygen more than a box on the periodic table.

I’m not suggesting I’m unable
to perform tasks without you.
I’m used to ashes in my coffee cup.
Your presence seems to open up
cold sunflowers.
You set ablaze the sun’s powers.
I could go on like this for hours
about the love you built;
iridescent solid sunflowers

Your voice has a choice.
Your tongue is moist with juicy, fruitful words.
Your lips chirp like harmonious birds;
building botanical gardens inside some
beautiful person’s head somewhere.

You could distinguish old flames, smother your pride
ignore all blame… Or
you could turn something worse.
Go postal, find trouble to immerse
yourself in.

Do you even try to scale the value between a blessing and a curse?
Did it sound more exciting when I said Congratulations first?
Is your mommy and the tv well distraction from the hearse
all of us blindly ride in.
We’re born into a society claiming Life, Freedom and the pursuit of happiness.

I feel no freedom in our flags
when more blood falls on clothing tags of women who were “just asking for it”.
I’m desperately clinging onto the pursuit of happiness,
but my hands slide off like butter fingers pursuing monkey bars
The greasy kind of disappointment you can get at
McDonalds for a dollar

I’m a little confused where the donations are Ronald?

$27.6 billion in revenue,
yet every seventeen minutes
another person pursues death as if it were their
only chance of freedom
and you’re squeezing your red clown nose
thinking of what new toy to impose
on the children buying Happy Meals.



The 111th richest corporation in the nation
has the audacity to serve deep fried pink slime
and call it a happy meal.
At the same moment,
a stiff insurance business suit is denying
extended treatment to people.
People:
dying to learn how to tame the monsters in their heads,
dying to learn how harming themselves harms their families health,
dying to learn how to fight enemies who sing them to sleep at night.

Thousands of children men and women
who are in so much pain.
Plastered with close-lidded visions
nightmare doorknobs with creaking hinges.
Some violent, some explosive, some ******,
ostly misunderstood combinations of the above.
Some, accidents stained with blood.
Some, knife twisting in their back, broken oaths.

There is more freedom in valuing the pursuit of life
than happiness in living for a dying pursuit
Congratulations, we live in a society
where the living die with a side order of either
painful awareness or
numb naivety.

I try my best to appear graceful
to look like my day to day existence
is perfectly orchestrated into
a symphony of flowers and lace
And then there are the days
I would rather saw my own legs off
than leave my bed
surrounded by chocolate and self pity
What causes each see-saw drop and lift
is unclear
but as I obsess over my internal and external self
the people I love with the power of Thor’s hammer
obsess  undress and caress
their bleeding wounds
desperately suppressing all incoming growth
screaming for pleasure without making a sound
embracing chemically induced illusion
instead of embracing each other
instad of embracing themselves
instead of embracing their mother
and I, masochistic and bursting with back and forth
delay my inevitable catapult to the future
the worst thing I could do is leave
the worst thing I could do is stay
The best thing i can do is embrace myself
the only thing I can do is embrace them

I do not walk
I drip my legs in front of
one another as one
squeeze of honey
gooey
do not touch me
you will smell me
the next time your
mother washes your mouth out with soap
she won’t understand why her baby’s sweet coo’s
taste better with a little crunch
some toast, some granola
I do not form
I merely hold
combine
the jagged pieces
of confusing juice together
call me Elmer

Do Not Tell Me “everything will be okay”

I will not feel relief
my inside’s stress tsunamis don’t have an off button
they will catastrophically annihilate anything I believe to be
okay
I wish they didn’t
Oh fairy godmother, Oh yahweh, god, ******* jesus himself
grant me wishes, grant the whole ******* world wishes
because we’re tired
I can’t even imagine the fuel debt of starving african children
or stockholders losing what they haven’t bought yet
when I, a financially privileged and well fed college student
can’t get through 3 hours without trying to prevent
another stress tsunami

Do not tell me everything will be okay
It is not what i want to hear
I want to hear bullets in my head
girls, screaming at the sight of my right arm
gushing niagra falls of blood
I want god to **** my ****
I hope every therapist and so called good friend
can understand these words when i say
Depression will never be okay
Feeling hundred year old brick buildings
crushing upon my chest, my brain
ransacked by rubble
and my heart, an empty sack
will never be okay

I am burnt to a crisp
I am too old for this ****

This is a happy poem,
About happy children,
And happy mothers,
Who dont get drunk.
And happy fathers,
Who dont leave home.
This is a happy poem,
About happy songs,
Which arent about heartbreaks.
And happy stories,
Which arent about death.
This is happy poem,
About happy headlines,
Which dont read '****'.
And happy people,
Who buried themselves,
Yesterday.