When everybody tells me that I can be anything I want,
I was born to do what I want,
I believe them.

So, I was born to be wild.
Or maybe I was born 2 b wild (numeral and letter)
or brn2bwld (no vowels nospaces)

I'm a poet and I'm proud to say
**** form     and while im at it, **** the word
*** (no c) and **** the grammar of needing to put the apostrophe in im
Because I write as i want i am as I want and nothing can
Change that.

like gatsby the Great i have given birth to Myself and
I am me, no
One                 ELSE
not even gatsby or any Ayn Randian wetdream dreamed of on a midsummer night because
fk (no c no vowels) Shakespeare and fitzgerald and the shrugging atlas

becuz (uz instead of ause)
this is Me

and no One, not a duckface peacesign Mona Lisa or a bandanawearing bazookawielding Benjamin Franklin
can ever destroy
t     h     a     t

because (no change) I am born to be wild (no change)

I never understand.

You're a whirligig, spinning this way and that
on the whim of a breeze or a sunray with me

                                                                                    trailing     behind

a demented kite catching the flak
picking up the                        slack while you fly

                                                                                                            free

libertad      por siempre
at all                       Costs

                                                                           come Hellorhighwater

not for you to pick up the flakslack
leave it to your kite demented

I never understand.

I guess
The biggest
Thing is that
I wish I knew
You better.
Because, let’s face
It: You’ve already got the looks
Down pat. I mean, where to
Begin? The eyes, the luminescently soft
Marbles, the most beautiful paradox I’ve
Seen? The sly, wry raise of your eyebrow
Or the clever upturn at the corner of
Your mouth? Maybe the smile as
A whole, white teeth happily exposed?
Or possibly your skin, a warm, golden
Invitation to be touched? Or
Should I start with the whole
Shape of you: strong lines in your face, in
Contrast with the curves elsewhere?
I guess
It really doesn’t matter without
The biggest
Thing. Yes, there is a
Foundation, but there should be more.
All it takes is to talk to you,
Or you to talk to me.
Maybe when I’m
Stronger

(as if it actually matters)

It's a good thing we have skin. Otherwise
we'd have to see our filthy hearts, beaten and
                                                                             scrubbed raw,
Torn   apart   and  pieced back together with
Masking                                                     tape
                    Dented and bruised with abuse blackandblue not red
Except for the
scabs and sores and cuts and holes waiting to be filled
                                                                             With something
anything.
                  They contract, retreat to the beat of
desperate breaths   and                                         lonely sobs
Pumping a polluted river through our veins flowing with all the
                                                                                       Refuse
The tears and unsung songs, silent pleas drowning under
                                                                                    the weight.
                                                                                    All while we flash
Our pearly whites shake our bony hands
And say hello and how are you and fine and very well

thank                                                                        you

I dream of sparks eternal, intertwined forever
In their flash in the pan.

It's highway robbery. Grand theft.
My vaults stand empty, their contents
Given by me freely, and
I TRUSTED YOU
                               the metaphor breaks down
                                                                              falling falling
splat
And for a second I thought I
saw the gold at the end of
The rainbow  NOW IT'S SOUR ALL FOR
                                                                         hold the lines
unity
The kiss of betrayal I  JUDAS GUILTY WHY
                                                                             god structure
maintaiN   coRPSE   stench   ROTten   UNFAIR
                                                                                  try
Okay.
The scales are out of
Whack. Lead on one end and air on  Y   stop
The other. The scales of  HATEFUL GODS
                                                                          breakdown
abort
   RIPPED UP IN MY FACE  please
  hOw and WHy and

love in the time of cholera

The weight is dead on my back.
Dead like a corpse: The remains
Of a murdered love,
Sagging, growing
Heavier by the day with no end in sight. No light
At the end of the tunnel.
Just the weight on my back.
The morbid Atlas.

They run in circles around my ruined body,
My wounds open and
Exposed for all to see.
Each laugh and smile is really nine - nine cat tails,
Slicing skin and making the blood flow:
Mine and my burden's mix, fresh and old together
In a rustred lacquer. War Paint.
How can the laughter flow so easy as my blood?

They play in their ruined monuments, blind to
The burning buildings, the collapsed city around them.
Disciples of Peter, they deny the trust I gave them
With grins and jokes and smiles
While Atlas is left with the remains
Of his love. The monuments, the city, the world started and
Ended with them. The light of the fires for them, and for
Atlas, the remains.

The air is wrong.
Words should hang
There. But nothing. Not a
peep, not a glance, not an outstretched
Hand across the chasm.
Emptiness at a
First glance.

But what if the air is too full, past capacity, regulation-breaking?
Yes. It isn't radio silence at all. So much noise
That we're deaf. Tongues move to speak but are met
With bitterness. Tension that needs a chainsaw
To cut. Hateful gods playing with magnets.
Would speak, but
The taste.

But more than bitterness is in the air.
A dream deferred floats in the ether,
Poised to pop, to burst.
No, not poised: it will, scattering
The beautiful moments, the possibilities
All around. Let's
stop it.

I want to scream,
Twist and shout like a primal pop hit.
An atomic tango plays in my head,
Angry, loud, hot.
My lead heart wants to
Fall             out, weary from the Saturday night fever.
COME ON, BABY, DO THE LOCOmotion.

Wait. Don't let the chaos reign.
                                                     Contain it.

A drumline rolls  and  then the rimshot and his face
Doesn't                      go                                         away.
Is he on the dance floor where I need to
SLIDE TO THE LEFt.

Stop. Good things come to those who can
                                                                       Why?

The love hurts a
                            downpour a flooD.
the music is so loud the fear the anger the luv luve love
gentlehearts in need of
WELL UR WALKIN ANDA TALKIN

If I had to ask you for something before it happens,
I'd probably ask for a kiss. Something
To ease the pain. A spark of warmth
Out here. The garden is cold. The night is cold it's all
Cold. So please don't let me go,
Alone and cold.

Or

Or would it just make it worse? Maybe the kiss
Would be colder than the night air that mocks me
Now. Maybe it's a bitter token,
One final joke: You, my friend,
My best friend, selling me with a kiss
Goodbye.

Alone.

So alone here. While others sleep carelessly, I wait
All by myself. I wait for you to
Finally come along and end this. You have to know
I love you. So please come back soon, kiss or
No kiss. It's so cold, I'm so tired, and I can't be
Alone anymore.

please

The moment calls me.
No.
It screams, laughs, taunts.
No more power now. Just the
Pain.
My god, the pain the pain the
Pain.
I can only wait,
Fists balled and eyes
Averted. Waiting for the
Moment. Cruel or kind is irrelevant.
The moment won't let me be.
He won't let me be.
It's Hell, that moment as
The door opens, when
All will be revealed
(Maybe). Or will it?
Can it ever ever ever

Let's see what's behind
Door Number
Three