When I think of summer time I think of you
I think of the way you grasped my leg
How your touch was electric
I still dream of the way your lips on mine gave me butterflies
How it knocked the breath right out of me
I felt like I waited for this moment my entire life

I do not much care for poets
We're a touchy bunch indeed
How we validate our feelings
By what other people read
How we dive into our writing
Like a swine into its mud
And we savor every sentence
Like a ruminating cud
How we strike upon the heartstrings
Of the others like ourselves
But we feel so violated
When we're pulled out of our shells
How we make such grand investments
With our twenty dollar words
Toward the inevitability
That our voice will be heard
And we slather on the sentiment
With metaphoric verse
Vindication in our imagery
So beautiful and terse
And I sometimes have to wonder
If the reason we create
Is exclusively attracting
Someone else who can relate
No, I don't much care for poets
Though the blame is not on you
As the simple truth about it
Is that I'm a poet too

my fingers tremble and
my heart stutters and
my mind wonders and
my eyes question and  
I don't exactly know you and
I don't exactly know why,





but you make me nervous

I am bored
of routine,
of familiarity,
and of repetition.
I just exist,
I am unimportant,
but really, we all are.

Who created us?
What do we live for?
Why are we here?

Top of the food chain,
the most advanced product of evolution,
more intelligent than all other creatures
and yet we barely understand our own kind.
I don't even fully understand myself.

Humans are ignorant.
We are just the inmates, eternally confined
and restricted to the spherical dome-shaped prison that is planet Earth.
There is no way to escape.
We are trapped.

The Bad Kids were the ones your mother warned you about. The kids with messy hair and ***** fingernails as well as thoughts. The ones that rode their bikes with no helmets and looked the other way when their parents called their names. But you couldn't resist, could you? You couldn't stay away from the girls who stuffed their bras and twirled cigarettes in their fingers as if they didn't have coughing fits whenever they exhaled.

They took you under their wing and promised to show you what it really meant to live. You followed, unaware of all the danger you might face. And when the girls with alcohol on their breaths took your hand and led you behind the dumpster to smother you with kisses, not once did you think about your mother's warnings. And when the boys who wore their pants low and kept switchblades in their pockets pressured you into robbing the local convenience store, you felt on top of the world, didn't you?

Everything seemed perfect then. You finally had friends that liked you for you and thought you were 'cool'. Little did you know that all they wanted from you was what you could do for them. They didn't really care about you, no matter how much you tried to convince your mother that they did. When your so-called friends finally realized that you were too good of a kid to be a part of their group, they kicked you to the curb and left you stranded. You spent day after day begging them to take you back, but they stared you down with their cigarettes hanging out of their mouths. Your mother waited for you by the door with her hands on her hips. When you walked in with your head lowered, sporting a torn bandanna and a leather jacket, she chuckled.
"I told you so."