You saved me in your moms car the other day
holding my hand just in time to stop tears exploding out from my eyes. Because I'm very claustrophobic and I ******* hate small Hondas.

You let me hold you when we watched Steel Magnolias with your mom crying in the back saying Im sorry I walked in on your movie, I'm such a cryer.

We went into your room to listen to vinyl and even though it wasn't what I expected, I love it all.

You answered all my questions about things in your room, and showed me your best fiends angry poetry on your wall.

You answered every question as if every item was a priceless  antiquity, even the bottle of Mardi Gras beads and how you watched a documentary about the people in factories who made them, and how you just can't bring yourself to throw them away.

I don't even know if this is a poem but I'll put it up anyway. It may not be poetic but ever word that passes your lips it's Hemingway and Emerson to me.

I wish being a poet made me money. I wish my emotions made people happy. I just wish a lot of things for a lot of outcomes because I just want to be happy.

If only you knew
How stressful it is
To hear a siren at night
And wonder if its heading to your house.

But you have rabbits to take care of, and classes at community college. So there's no reason that you'd cut too deep tonight.

Right?

But I'll see your car in the parking lot on Monday and throw up my anxiety in the bathroom.

I keep hearing it reverberating in my head
I'm selfish, I'm a liar and I'm broken, **** runs though my head every day I wouldn't tell anyone
But instead I'll just keep quiet and think about whether or not you kept the bracelet I made you.

I'm scared for your eternal life* my dad says.
I can't help but laugh at what he says
I'm serious Andrew He says with tears forming.
I'm not laughing anymore
But how ****** up is it when you hate what you believe in so much, because it hurts your own ******* father?

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Maturity is weird
And so are you*
- Jake Bodner

I'm a pretty pathetic poet
I'm not up at 3am pouring my heart out on white canvases
Or composing wonderful literature about love
Fact is in asleep before most of you eat dinner
Just sitting in my room thinking about the pack of Marlboro lights hidden under my bed
There's no great epiphany I can right about
I'm not a Emerson, a Whitman, or a Dillard or a Hull

I'm not a poet.