the first time you broke my heart felt like every molecule in my body had been shaken like a carbonated drink inside a plastic bottle, containing the catastrophe and sheltering the insanity as if it were a home. i could not let anyone know how close i was to exploding, i could not be weak.
i walked around daily, replaying memories we had against the backs of my eyelids like a projector against a cement wall
i played it over and over until my stomach overflowed with churning bile, wanting to eject the inauthenticity of nostalgia
while watching i would try to make meaning of the dialogue, and you, being it’s main featured character
i made you out to be the hero but you were the villain, you destroyed the plot, you slaughtered the character’s lives, yet you were such a deceivingly good actor
have you ever heard something so many times that you started to go insane?
words can hit you so hard they start to feel like they’ve been carved into your brain, able to be sounded like keys on an everlasting piano, one note insisting for another to play along with it
but you’re not a song that i want to listen to anymore

the second time you broke my heart, i had it coming
i told myself this was it
every time i watched you blink i watched the doors to your soul close
have you ever let anyone in?
every kiss enabled another voice in my head telling me goodbye
but the best part about me letting you into my heart for a second time was that it didn’t really break
what i thought was my chest ripping open, withdrawing blood vessels and vitals, was really the nerves in my body connecting again, i can feel again
i can feel again
i am healing and here months later,
stitched up and intact
you can’t hurt me anymore

From me
At this tired
Jowly moment
When my face muscles seem
To melt and sag
As my shoulders hunch over
In half-asleep crescent
I somehow produce
Just a few words

I am here
Composing
Reposing
Dozing
While the wheels
Are rolling
And fields
Slip by

While others organise
Their personal effects
And prepare to live out
Just one more day

The drama of Wednesday
11th January
Twenty seventeen
Is now commenced

And I am squeezing
The sponge of my life
As hard as I can
For just a few words

The dull sparks of gradual attrition
Burn across the wheel and blade
In ever shaping blunt ambition
We stand back from the 'ol parade

Behind marching bands, trumpeteers
Sorcerers and demon trainers walk
Firetrucks, flags and summer beer
The passing crowds, stand and balk

The train goes off into a new track
Where do we go from here?

Trump is upset about what he calls
Fake news being spread--
News which has the soon-to-be
President seeing red.

An unverified dossier
Claims that Russia has power over him.
Fake news or not, it still appears
That Trump's memory is growing dim.

For years he peddled a birther myth!
So, Mr. Trump, please let us put
A question to you: How does it feel
To have the shoe on the other foot?

- by Bob B (1-11-17)

we have problems
we are human
what else?

In this tale never told.
Lived old lady who lived alone.

As the sunlight peers through half closed curtains    
elegantly eluminating a dusty antique table
made of oak, upright and stable.

A musty scent ecaptulating the past
A life that was made but not to last  

Her garden grows weeds as tall as trees
Still a rose appears to attract the bees

Who was this lady, whom did she know?
What was her life? god rest her soul.

Feminism is lying
It is not driven by equality
It is driven by dominance
And I, a humble observer of what is both beautiful and empirical
Have no argument for the contrary
Their fertile nature and ensorcelling majesty, I am but a myrmidon
To what is the zenith of divinity
that this circumscribed world permits

You were my only friend
I had no one during my childhood
You were always there in the end
You were there when no one would

Now I am not talking about a person
I was surrounded by loneliness
I had no one for some reason
I keep to myself, that was my businesse

Now here we are years later
I didn't think I would see you
But now you show up to cater
The poor lonely girl that is what you do

The quiet is boring,
The quiet is fun,
The quiet can drive you crazy,
The quiet can make you sane,
The quiet is everywhere,
The quiet is nowhere,
The quiet is between us,
And growing like a ****,
As we drift apart from day to day.