i'd do everyone around us a big favor
and apologize
i'd do them an even bigger favor
and forget you
but baby you knew
my stubborn masochism was my best quality
when you told me you didn't love me
so tell me
does it feel good
when i make you feel wanted
when i pull you close to me
and hold my tongue
when i regurgitate your fantasies and choke on your scripts
is it everything you wanted it to be
am i lifeless enough
am i suffocating enough
tell me
did you keep me within drunk arms reach
because you knew
i could learn to take your blows
like a ******* champ
is it everything you wanted it to be
do you see the way you hurt me
in the way i left you
you cornered me and expected me not to show my teeth
you shouldn't have been
surprised when i fought back
there's nothing wrong with being a monster
can't you see who you made me be in your reflection?
look closer

"You know,"
he says
as he fiddles with his Joy Division shirt,

"The human race
has escaped the food chain
and that is why
we are ruining the earth"

You kept asking me
about my memoir, as if
you'd be there
to see it's completion.

Now,
you will fill its pages
if only in vague form,
for months to come.

You, the observer
have become the subject
of this torment.

Hello,

Lately my poetry has been shifting and taking new shapes. Instead of my typical, drawn-out style of editing and composing, I'm now limiting myself to the following rules:

1. Only write when you need to, and write as soon as you need to
2. Edit minimally - only three revisions per poem
3. Feel a lot.

Additionally, I've embarked on a journey to cope with loss, writing a total of 157 love poems (or rather, emotionally charged poems). The goal is that the final poem's completion will also bring the advent of my catharsis.

It's my hope that these vignettes will provide you an authentic and rough window into my own urban and dazzlingly hellish experiences.

All the best,
Sam

I bought the shirt
to tell you I was there
when the electric slide was
cool,
when I wore dandelion
hair.

I knew the words that could
school
your mind so that you'd
stare.
With your electric hide
you can go
anywhere,
but imagine your jealousy
when I'm in all the photographs,
not noticing I don't fit.

In the millennium's decade
I wove webs at bars
I healed dames their scars
and gave them my brand.
I told jokes with slight
of
hand;
left coats with nowhere
to stand.
Oh, I was the border patrol,
******* pockets,
though none could pass.
My security measures were
long and vast,
probing questions
slick with crass,
I'd lead them to pasture
epiphanies from my grass.
Yes, I wore the hat,
compliments, too,
but my hat wouldn't fit
no matter what
I told it to
do.

All that time,
searching for something to fit.
Keys slipped out of locks
Numbers ripped off of clocks
women deprived of their... talks,
for my language was divine.
That was the problem:
how could I be divine?
Was I the branded fool?
Was I truly sublime?
A prince I was, set to inherit the world
till misfortune struck, disaster unfurled.

I couldn't fit into my home
or wherever I'd
roam.
I couldn't fit into school
now a blunted
tool.
I couldn't fit into work
Who's that?
****!

No, no, don't feel sorry for me...
After all, I'm only 3.
Three things you wouldn't
want to be.
Too round, too soft, too... me.
I'm not the sort of peg
that fits in at any degree.

I'm just the laughing stock,
that you put in your wok,
who tastes bad next year,
that much isn't clear.

Yet if I live in the past,
I'll eat my own tail,
so in order not to fail:
into the future, fast!

Someday I'll find,
that fitting is not the key,
it's learning to
relax,
in something bigger than I'll
ever be.

Waking up and remembering
That your life is not sleep,
And your dreams
Are in fact reality -

                       [Things are this bad,
                        You are not better]

These thoughts are the sharpest,
Barely worth living for