Poetry taught me ******* myself
poetry taught me why I shouldn’t
poetry taught me that sometimes
a laugh is a whole lot more than a laugh
and poetry helped me get back in touch
with all of my long lost tears
poetry taught me that girls at a party
love a poet
but girls at a party
don’t know a ****** thing about poetry
poetry taught me that that doesn’t matter
I’ve got a **** and we’re all just animals
poetry taught me how to talk to girls
poetry taught me that I’m the type of guy
who strikes out way less on the page
Ermmm… yeah. Do ya like music?
poetry taught me that getting high
results in crashing lows
and it’s the ascent/descent which breeds art
passion comes from the destinations
poetry taught me honesty
and how to make a lie sound truthful
poetry taught me life and death
and made nihilism seem hip
poetry taught me that my Mum is on occasion
a crazy woman
and that my Dad is more like me than I’d like to admit
poetry taught me that that is all okay
poetry taught me how to be okay in the passenger seat
but also when to take the steering wheel by force
poetry taught me how to make the glint of
a neon sign reflected by a broken forty ounce bottle
into a dazzling beam of lunar light
poetry has taught me a lot
and I’m eager to learn

A year ago I was sitting in my room
dropping out of college
I found a pen and an old notebook
which I got for my creative writing class
in high school
So I picked it up, unsure of what was going to happen
but I wrote a poem called in my dreams
without meaning to
Dude, poetry is gay
but It seemed I had a taste for it
a week later I was writing to drown out the sound
of my roommate fighting with his girlfriend
and the couple was born

I was a secret drop out
I even made up a class schedule
so I would go at varying hours on varying days
to any cafe which had cheap coffee and free wifi
and I would write these ****** little poems
saved in a google docs folder called
poetry
I used to ***** around on the web too much
stuff like stumbleupon
and I found all of you beautiful sons of *******
a strange old website called hellopoetry.com
facebook for those young or foolish enough
to call themselves poets
I was skeptical
I’ve never been a fan of other writers in my atmosphere
but I’ll be ****** If I didn’t fall in love
with the ***** old dog
I wrote and I wrote and I wrote
I may not have been the best
but you can’t spell prolific without pro
and when I finally hit
100,000 views
it was like losing my virginity all over again
only not as awkward and drunk

I’ve been pottering around on here for a year now
and every person who read my work
every angel which clicked follow
Got to see me bang my head against the keyboard
in dark rooms on even darker days
and they’ve seen some of my best work
definitely some of my worst
and I’ve met some genuinely great people along the way
I only hope that you all know who you are
So let’s raise a glass to the year passed
and celebrate
a bunch of wild poet… things
and here’s to another year
of weird little poems

In my dreams
we stand together
bare footed
on the grass
of our rural Georgia home
or maybe
we are out west
born again pioneers
trekking on through
the California sunshine

In my dreams you would be happy
all because of me
and in my dreams
you would feel safe
and would call me
your better half
your rock
your one and only
with nothing but compliments
coming from your lips

In my dreams you would support me
and I you
and we would revel
in each other's success
and we would wake together
in the sober morning light
to the pretty sounds of birds
perfectly content
moving only forward

whatever I may conjure in my sleep
rest assured you are there

Excuse me, Ma’am, but do you accept rent
in the form of formless loose poetry?
no?
I guess that makes me the jack ***
Prometheus stole fire from the Gods for us
we re-gifted it for a pair of Nikes
sorry
but ******* don’t we look like hot **** hot shots?
you look good in those clothes
and I can say whatever you tell me to
in a way that sounds almost original
for just a taste of Eve
her kisses taste like bad apples
and I think I’m in love
I think I’m drowning because I forgot how to swim
Nobody wants to listen
we all just want it to be our turn
our turn to cry and make a ******* scene in the grocery store
no I’m not as high as I look
I am way higher
Cheech and Chong? Honk on my pipe of poison
then we can all get goofy paranoia
don’t escort me out of the Garden
it’s cold out there and I’m scared
beneath this mask of calculated courage
all of our friends exceeded the recommended dosage of cough syrup
so they bob and weave through my toy box
with eyes never fully open
**** it, right?
anybody can buy white powder, mirrors, and razors
but not everybody can’t
that’s funny… isn't it?
waiting on the heels of my next paycheck
because hotpockets aren't cutting it anymore
and jah never paid the bills
the lights in my room are burned out
and it is so ******* dark
just close your eyes
run from the monsters which own the shadows

The kids are in the backroom
trying their hands at whiskey and ****
and lung cancer
with one too many ideas of glorification
but look at them -
watch them all try to be mean, hurt souls -
they all sound the same
the same post-rockstar lamentations
of the “Oh-so-cruel-world”
they’re fine with playing the victim
Now watch them cut horizons across forearms and thighs
This cry for help isn’t quite loud enough
to drown out the laughtrack soundtrack coming from my TV
I’m slow dancing with the Devil
in a candle lit room
romantic as all hell
I think I should lunge in for the fiery kiss
the Devil is one pretty *** chick
her belly full with all the reckless children
but I am wary -
I’ve always had issues with intimacy
and the great temptress is no different
we played a game of cards and became fast friends
as her tarots told me everything I wanted to hear
I asked her if she wouldn’t mind keeping my angst for safe keeping
so I can dip my pen in on occasion
but she jet set for the back door with my ego
and left me, Screaming through the night sky
back across the river of souls
Standing me up for the big dance number
the Devil is one mean *****

I was forged in the pages of books
where I hid from the life I was living
they called it fiction
but, ****, it all felt pretty real to me
I was the shadow of every character I threw myself on
on rainy Monday or beautiful Saturday
So I hid away in my room
patiently waiting for something
I might never know
with a spiral bound notebook full of all the things
I couldn't say out loud
It all started with a dream
I wanted to steal the shadows of kids just like me
from NA to EU
Africa, Asia, selah
So I hid away in my room
full of all the words from all the books I loved
and I gave it a shot

Smile,
That's the best word to describe it
Lights casting shadows over my spine
You make me a real *******
Grinning at anything you say
Drunkard pen pals
I like your slightly too long/too skinny fingers
Which end in calloused tips
Because you don't own a pick
I know words
But not the right words for you
Always another self made excuse
But I haven't hurt you yet