I’m a failed musician
Broken
On the side of the street
Against the curb
Just like my guitar
And its useless strings.
At least, I feel I still exist.

I’m a monotonous teacher
Depressed
In a silent, spacious classroom
Behind a podium
Just like my lecture
And its empty words.
At least, I feel I still exist.

I’m a desperate ***
Insane
In a smelly, cold alleyway
Between scraped Dumpsters
Just like my self-made house
And its ***** bed.
At least, I feel I still exist.

I’m a trapped housewife
Alone
In a deteriorating home
Beside unchanged relatives
Just like my furniture
And its absurd point.
At least, I feel I still exist.

I’m a bored adventurer
Hopeless
Out somewhere upon the sea
On this old, worn sailboat
Just like my journey
And its careless end.
At least, I feel I still exist.

I’m a dead poet
Thoughtless
In my lonely, dim room
At my unstable desk
Just like my manuscript
And its blank pages.
At least, I feel I still exist.

Exist, exist, exist!
Through liberty or slavery,
Through love or hate,
Through energy or matter,
Through life or death,
Like Whitman or me.
Just exist for your legacy!

Is it acceptable to **** anyone and everyone you want,
Be mysteriously exposed in your photographs,
Act carelessly with people and friends drunk and drugged and dicked out of your mind,
Forget the hurtful and blissful past for a reputation,
Exist in a way the girl you were never thought you could be the girl you are,
Because you’re in your 20s?

You remind me of the characters Greta Gerwig plays in some of her films,
But not Gerwig herself,
Although you do look an awful like her Hispanic version if there was one;
I guess that’s you.

I bet when I was placing the edge of the razorblade against my wrist,
You were getting penetrated and plowed by a **** between the legs.

Your innocence was smothered by your lust and
Our history got erased by your fears and flaws.

I just wanted you,
But then again, everyone already had you,
And it was not my fault;
It was your choice.

He kept more memories than her.

I knew the sad truth but still chose to hope.

My mother served me food on a plate branded “Hope”,

The gift you gave her that one Christmas,

When I was sober and you were kinder;

It was the life span of a neon light letter.

Isn’t that ironic?

I saw a girl today
As I rode passed her
In the backseat
With Sunny Day Real Estate,
I stared at her
Through the raindrop-stained window
As she just sat there
On her torn lawn chair
In uncut grass and faded pajamas
Doing absolutely nothing
But getting fat and old
And picking at her shirt,
The logo on it was Superman
And all I could do was wonder
Was she ever super before?
Was she related to Clark Kent?
Was she with the Man of Steel?
Was she the decisive or deceived?
Or was it a call for help?
She looked at me
For a split second,
I suddenly knew
Expectations are ruins
Existence only lingers,
The symbol symbolized
A human truth,
Like car lights caught in traffic
On a bridge
Like your being ingurgitated
By the sky
Like the lonely sea passed the waves
For a moment,
Not forever,
No one is special,
Nothing is superb,
Except maybe fiction
Scribbled on dead trees,

Then the car crashes,
My family is compelled to fly,
And I join my friends in death,
As the girl continued sitting,
Being un-super.

Inevitably,
Hearts die without any rest;
Without love, we’re dead.