There is a curious thing about girls,
That my friend and I don’t get.
Or, maybe no man gets.
It doesn’t matter what or who they are,
A hook up, a long time lover, a good friend,
When things eventually blow up—they always do amongst us human beings
And when we scream and kick and tear the walls down,
Rip our hair out to the roots, and partake in substances
We would otherwise look down upon, but when we actually see them, or talk to them,
No matter how much they hurt us, since we care
We can see nothing but the good in them,

Their reasons, no matter how validated or not,
Ebb through us, and we forgive; I may be a pessimist
But I always see the best in them, the sound of their voice turns my stone heart
Into honey, even when I hated them and screamed for mercy only weeks ago.

And they never realize , no matter how much they hurt us,
We still believe in them. And after however long of this,
After ignoring our friends and family about being too mature about things,
We will finally give in, and we will say in unison,
*******, I don’t need this **** anymore,
Even though it is only half true.

And the girls, they will wonder why no one else gives them
The time of day, or love or whatever, or seem to only get
The hard *** guys acting tough and only want a good ****,
It’s because they missed an opportunity to have a guy
Who was absolutely deluded with good thoughts about them,
Who woke up and saw what they were really doing,

They missed an opportunity,
While we hauled *** far away, bitter and thankful
In the long run.

It would be oh so nice to have a
woman who
didn’t mind staying up late, to watch the sun rise with,
to watch wasted hipster musicians play in the dirtiest bars,
and not be afraid to talk about philosophy and ideas with the same
enthusiasm and nonchalance as most do with those god awful tv shows,
It would also be nice to have a career instead of a job,
It would be nice to start making money off music, photography, writing, painting,
Whatever else.
It would be nice to not feel so crazy.
I suppose all of those things will come
In time.

I don’t see why we pay for ***
but having a conversation with someone
is free,
you would think that it would be the opposite,
*** is so easy, and it always feels good,
even ****** ***,
but having a conversation?
What a stupid, hard thing to do,
and god forbid you are too open,
or not open enough,

conversations take time and skill and thought,
how is something like that
free?
I’ve always wanted to visit a brothel
and do exactly that,
look a ***** in her eyes and

do the most awkward thing humans do on a daily basis,
and at least she would be getting paid
for something almost worthwhile.

Every time someone mentions they love Christmas,
take another drink.
Someone says “Happy Holidays”,
take another drink.
Every time you feel as if everything is pointless,
take another,
You see a person you hate acting happy,
that’s two drinks,
A Christmas song plays, traffic is terrible, your family thinks your views on religion is a phase,
and you spent all your money on presents and you’re wide awake at night feeling like death even though the drive to your house was nice and you said you were going to do some artsy things,

when you know that the past few Christmases were great and lovely and now both an intrinsic and extrinsic variable has changed to ruin it all for you,

take another drink
take another drink
take another drink
drink it all ******* gone
and drink some more.
Hum,
*******,
bug.

She asked me, what did you want to do today?
I wanted to take her to the park,
while it was raining and miserable in December,
It would be a surprise of course,
I wanted for us to feel the cold and misery together for once,
Lord knows misery loves company, and I’m sure
It might be something new to her, to go out
And do it deliberately, though it seems I do so all of the time.
What I stupid idea, she would think.
No,
I just like the idea of it raining
On the just and unjust alike.
        But we didn’t,
so I’m here under my patio
reading the poetry of Bukowski,
Getting a semblance of understanding of him and all that he means,
It rains on all of us,
May as well let it soak through our fragile skin
Together,
Or alone,
It doesn’t matter either way I suppose.

Fleet Foxes are on, doing their melodic folky thing,
And I’m sitting writing here, taking large swings
of fire breathing liquor,
if only to forget her.
       And it’s alright,
       It’s ok.

We kissed on the mouth in the moonlight
during the 11th hour of the
11th day of the
11th month of the
11th year of the
twenty first century,

      And everything was alright,
      Everything was ok.

But now I write letters to you that you will never read,
That I’ll never even again, I may print and burn them
(If I ever feel the need),
But I think I’ll start writing to myself now,
At least I may listen and take heart to what I say,  
Anything at all to keep you and the demons away.

What a madness everything is!
I think so with a wicked smile.
If you’re the *** of the joke and everyone is laughing,
May as well laugh along.
But to tell you the truth,
The punchline,
We’re all in the same sinking life raft.
And the people who know  are considered the crazy,
The mad the suicidal the outcasts
But it’s obvious that they know they are on
A sinking life raft,
Why else would they panic if we shook the boat a little?

        And think of all the ethics, look at religion, philosophy,
I need an atheist Bible *******,
        One surely must exist,
Something nice to get a more concise
idea of this stupid world I’m trapped in,
Because I’m a sucker and I believe in my animal bones that things will get better
even though the evidence is all pointing in the opposite direction,
like how everyone believes that woman will want me,
Even though the evidence is pointing the other way.

      So **** it, I’m heading north,
      Get a job in Alaska and make money
      Even though I’ll have no way to spend it,
      Except maybe on hookahs and ****,
      Ha, what I stupid life that would be.

Isn’t it all rather stupid?
Philosophy is my only constant friend, and it believes
that we build things out of nothing, quantum things,
But I’m starting to believe that as human beings,
We do this to ourselves, we build nothing
out of something,
assuming we don’t blow it up
in the first place.

Over the course of a set amount of time,
of being around each other long enough, it was
growing obvious that we had one major difference.
It was how I knew what I wanted, and a vague idea how to obtain
it,
And I was powered by selfishness and self interest and a narrowing ambition,
To the point where some may call me an effigy, or an *******, or an artist,
While she followed me around, trying to find herself, her own passion,
Her inspiration and all of that jazz, though she helped me greatly.
She was selfless and noble and, while I tried to help her find herself,
I was still shrouded in whatever the hell was going on in my mind,

You couldn’t call it pretty,
I was often such a whirlwind of aspirations, ideas and conflicts
it was hard to keep up with me,
hell, it still is, in that regard, but I hoped to help her grow and inspire her,
to go out and feel the world with bare feet and all of its beauty and discomfort.
I have not changed at all, still looking and trying to predict and plan,

But one thing I never anticipated
never even flew into my mind
was that once we rolled into the university,once she found the beginning threads of herself,
She found her wings,
And I was too heavy
to fly with her.
So she left me on the ground,

And I find that I’m not so ambitious or self sufficient as I thought I was.
But a vain part of me thinks that I am Daedalus,
Except this time I’m hoping
that her wings do melt
after all.