Let me be your drug
stimulants to raise you up higher than any peak
setting your veins on fire and tickling the bottom of your feet
Let me hone your mind to a fine focused edge
lethal, right?
Let me take your inhibitions and crush them
teach you how to dance
and egg you on to violence
standing up for yourself is just that
depressants? Yeah I've got that covered
make you feel so low the sun light falls short
I've got a book full of lullabies to put you to bed
and I can make those cuts and bruises
feel like loose, easy sunlight
let me alter your perception
DMT, Shrooms, and Lucy
I'll show you a God you forgot to believe in
hallucinations so real they send your nightmares reeling
back into the comfortable dark of closets and bottoms of beds
Love Drug?
I'm an easy E to pop
Molly Molly Molly
Moon rocks
prompts for the closet romantics
and **** machines
light this stick of TNT spliff
and ******* out into the dead air between all things

The frozen birds died not happy
but not sad or wanting
they just ended
not like a book or a sentimental sunset
but like a crosswalk shifts from white man to red hand
Us - Humans -  the only animal which asks why
why is the world so dark
why won’t she return my love
why do I feel this way
Why doesn’t everything work out the way I want
if they could - the birds would call us *******
it’s why they can fly and we can only pretend
and I hate those pretty little ******* for that
Why?

My dad always had a belly
from the back you wouldn’t have thought he was fat
but once he turned around
you noticed he carried boulders in his beer gut
and it made the best pillow a 4-8 year old boy could ask for
I told him that at night before bed
my head on his belly
we used to drink apple tango when we went and walked our dogs together
every weekend morning
Daddy wasn’t a rolling stone
but he was a man of business class transcontinental flights
important Dr. Baxter
he helped with my homework
because his patience ran deeper than most
but he was a volcano of suppressed emotion
one small **** up away from erupting
back when we were kids it was scary for my brothers and me
now we laugh about it
we’re all taller than him now
But I still remember living at the Sheridan for 3 weeks
all of us ganging up on him in the pool
the way he picked us up and tossed us with ease
a 5’6 210 lb man
and I remember all the fights
the last minute flights
me hiding in my bed with my hands covering my ears
him so quiet and rational
my Mum so explosive and passionate
I remember her crying on Christmas eve
when I was sneaking outside for a smoke
I remember anger and numbness
I wrote him a letter once
I never sent it
I remember how friends and family used to tell me how alike we were
how that went from a good thing to a bad thing
I remember meeting his dad for the first time
the other Harry Baxter
and I remember not liking him
I remember when he stole all of our money and left my Dad for a second time
I remember wanting to beat the life out of that old man
I’m still hoping for the chance
I don’t remember the boarding school he went to
or the brothers and sisters he never got to grow up with
or how his mother called me “the boy” until I was old enough to read
I remember being so angry at myself for not being able to be angry enough
but It’s been a while now since all the drama
and I’ve had time to think and cool off
and ******* being a Dad has to be a tough gig
but he was always there for us in some way
maybe not to talk about heartbreak
or life long dreams
but my life has been relatively easy
and I never found myself wanting
He is a strange, quiet man
nobody is harder to shop for
Mum always used to say his hobby was his children
and I get that
I mean, I’m still here
and I think that means he did something right

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

Do not fade into the anonymity of everyday life
Find the avenue in which your voice echoes
Cling to the thresholds of any success
And never let go

If I were a praying man
I'd pray that every athlete or actor -
Who held out on a deal
Because they wanted more -
Would get every type of cancer

If I were a religious man
I'd wage jihad upon
Every company which values
the lives of workers at pennies per hour
So they can sell excess to the poor
And watch them **** each other

If I had a god
He'd smite every shark
Which took thing of necessity
And turned them into poker chips
So they could pay tribute to a false idol

Yes, maybe these things could happen,
But I'm not a religious man
I'm a drunk/high man
And these thoughts
Are just a night's sleep away
From being forgotten

There was a long road
from the church to the farm house
and ten acres of land was never enough to disappear
but we tried our very best
the fields spanned out in wooden fence borders
until they met with dirt side roads
sheep, cows, and horses
and mud tracked jeans
we built dens in the woods
out of whatever we could scavenge
with wheat hanging limp from lips
we graduated to the days of the pretender
and started memorizing names like
RJ Reynolds and Phillip Morris
our fingers grew as yellow as our teeth
Tobacco Road Hobos
sticking up a thumb
with a Kamel Red pinched between index and middle
that's the gun metal blue smoke screen
rattling lungs in the morning
scorched throats at night
and a pair of mud tracked jeans
Kings of Tobacco Road

at the dining hall
swipe me in please
hunger runs wild among the domestic wolves
all licking their chops
salivating over some new meal ticket
people swirling around and around
trying to assemble a life
from the rubble of those before them
I’m building sand castles
filled with sea shells
to cut the feet of oblivious children
not vindictive, but I see your point
who put this song on?
nothing but wailing fat ladies
and droning piano loops
make me a chart topping heart stopper
blotter paper and eye droppers
we used to fill our journal with raps
because at the time G-Unit was in
but we grew up to fill dream journals
with wild cowboy hay-makers
please let this be the one
the one to sweep me away
to paparazzi and front porches
and good loving
and I’m an instant-gratification limelight right now
kinda guy
with a crooked smile
and a poem on the tip of my tongue

nothing in our pockets but dirt we picked up along the way
she carries a locket with her
and it’s empty inside
she says she is waiting for the perfect moment
to fit between the fake gold
old souls in foolish bodies
smiling because it was all we had
he drinks in the woods after school
because the lesson plan never quite clicked
so he’s all sheets in the wind
as the time bomb ticks
one looks for the love she was
convinced she never deserved to give herself
they are all looking for the next fix of life
experiencing the world in ounces, milliliters, milligrams
shouting protests into the mirror
he is running away from reality
until he finds the life which suits him best
he flinches away from touch and contact
with eyes glimmering with eye drops
nothing in our pockets
but the baggage we picked up along the way

He was never afforded the luxury of a fresh start
his religion painted depictions of him
a silhouette entrenched in a thick bank of fog
The earth of his homeland has forgotten the taste of his footfall
left to find his own stake in reason and meaning
he emerged a cultist of jaded
false idol to the yearning masses
a means to an end for the end of meaning
the pounding of feet and fists
an eternal drumming
the call to action
too quiet to not be heard
his movements carried the voices
of birds too feeble to migrate away from icy fingers
he swims upstream until his body
becomes the sediment in which we plant our flag of victory

Circling at speeds too fast to blur
the edges are edged out of peripherals
tick tock spoke the clock
as laughter erupts from the hungry bellies
of a million explosions waiting to happen
breathing out fumes of cough syrup
saying things like
I am so ****** up right now
wading through the *** of honey
to rescue the husks of dead flies
fists firmly grasping nothing but air
the message in the bottle is blank
close your eyes and open your ears
the fire is about to die
like us it too craves oxygen
which is ****** out of your lungs
with each couch depressing sigh
summer fades into snowy winter
in the blink of an eye
and the clock still sits on the wall in judgement
tick tock
tick tock

We were clean. Pure.
Trekking from pine needles to sand
time slipping away from
the mountainous routine of
laughter and tears smeared across cyberspace
when I was younger
my Mother told me
that when the people we love die
you can still see them
the brightest stars breaking through the night sky
we were wandering away from smirking academia
clawing our education from
the comedies and tragedies of early mornings
calm like the kiss of diamond tides
and long nights
weighed down with thoughts and drugs and alcohol
shutting off each night
on each sunrise
drifting with nomadic intentions we
raged for rage’s sake
on green lawns with signs painted
dig deeper into the blazing structure,
the momentum is shifting,
and the Kingfisher is watching
proclaiming from mountaintops
that killers hunt these city streets
with a pocket full of bad ideas
the prey a sparkling barfly
clean and holy beneath a neon color palette
potential squandered in a scream of confusion
knowing that not every leap
is a leap of faith

That’s why they call it falling in love
because at best it’s going to hurt
and at its worst
you end up splattered all over the concrete

It’s a contradiction
you want to be free from it so badly
yet your body and brain screams for more
crossed live wires shooting sparks of tragedy
“Taken from us too soon”
that’s something selfish ******* say
ever been exhausted and not been able to sleep?
tag you’re it
and we don’t play that home base safety *******
soak through your sheets
so you can’t cry in public
you know -
a laugh isn’t always a laugh,
and it sometimes tastes like dirt
but they demand a clown to brighten their day
so cheers to the good life

Will I still be fun
Will my friends still hang out with me
Will they understand
Will they judge
????

People like to talk about wasted potential
as if they know a single ******* thing
I have potential
you have potential
****** had potential
we all have potential
it doesn’t mean a thing
see what we need is an inroad
or maybe just a clear exit
and sometimes Cupid isn’t such a hot shot

Will I wake up one day riddled with regret
Will I make it to forty
Will I ever be able to dismount
Will the light ever find me
????

I’m losing my mind
and I think I’m fine with that
set me free of these silly things
make me a cherub gracefully ascending
take me to Valhalla
take me to green lawns swaying in the gentle summer breeze
take me by the hand and sit me down
don’t tell me it’s all going to be okay
tell me that we shouldn’t take villains for granted
Villains are the leading cause of heroism
so I’m hitting liquid courage like she cheated on me
only to miss the point entirely
A cobra’s venom is useless if it’s caught in a trance
we dance to death and the nights never end
we flash neon smiles and slaughter the mirrored image
so go ahead and convince yourself you feel good
keep on telling yourself your genius is misunderstood
there are no geniuses
just people smart enough to realize how little they really know
and I know nothing about everything
so pay me the big bucks
so I can shoot them from my mouth out the window
like I always do

Will this ever end
Will I ever find the answers
Will I love myself
Will I find the power
????

It’s all just a question of will,
right?

Today I made it five hours
unless you count the six cups of coffee
and the cigarettes
I don’t
it’s convenient that way
I don’t know what it is
It is the one thing I can’t find the words for
probably because I am afraid of the implications
those words will surely bring
when I was a young *******
I knew way more than I do now
and I was never unhappy
but I grew up -
admittedly slower than my peers -
and bit by bit the wallpaper was stripped away
until all that was left were pipes and studs
a haunting skeleton creaking in the night
so I slipped more and more as I got older
because I wanted to go faster
wanted it all right away
and I was foolish
because all it got me was a handful of good words
and me sitting in this chair
lamenting the fact that I only made it five hours today
but tomorrow is tomorrow
and just maybe
I won’t be this me

Cast against the grain of all things
wandering the earth
from small town to hamlet to big city dreaming
gleaming every small ounce of life
fought desperately over
magpies chasing shiny glints in the darkness
Each piece of ground earned
a victory
go with the sun on your back in the morning
and in your face at the end of the day
Westward like pioneers of old
and if there’s no new ground to find
we will make some for ourselves
so that our dreaming heads
might have a leg to stand on
It’s just the way she goes
Lady Luck is up there laughing at me
as I crawl on my belly from place to place
lusting after her touch
my Goddess wearing gypsy shawls
and no shoes
egging me on
another step towards the last

They say that a shooting star
is another angel cast out from heaven
and we make wishes
upon their damnation
hoping against hope
that somebody is looking out
for all the fallen stars

A steering wheel is freedom
as much as another step down an
unfamiliar path laden with that new car smell
Headlights break through the fog
and we pass each other with a nod
and a raising of the hand
pilgrims chasing our own shadows
as the sun slowly fades behind
scarlet horizons
The ocean is calling me home
and I feel the oncoming wind
in each blade of grass
taste the lightning in the air
and feel the thunder in your
beating heart
the rain will come down in buckets
and we will dance beneath
our eternally blissful ignorance

Jesus is pounding on the bathroom door
“Hurry the **** up dude, I need to go.”
I tell Jesus to stop being a little *****
as I hold the door open for him - smirking
Jesus goes in there
and I can tell he really had to go
by the thunderous sound
of a waterfall battering the earth,
and the smell of holy water -
Jesus must be pretty well hung
He emerges and walks over to the coffee table
beginning to pack small pinches of ****
into the **** which we hide behind the sofa
and it ***** getting high with Jesus
just one self-righteous rant after another
and the old stigmata story
yaddahyaddahyaddah
but Jesus knows a Puerto Rican
by the name of C C
who gets some of the best stuff around
and me and Jesus - we smoke
and Jesus runs the tap in the sink
changing it all into wine
and we drink his blood
until our lips are stained and our voices loud
“It’s a real ****** having had to die for your sins, y’know?
because it seems that you all live for your sins.”
He says as he fishes a twenty out of his beard
and gives C C a call

You are on the wrong side of thirty
You the white cliff of Dover
the passing of days the waves of the ocean
chipping away at you
wearing you down
You are on the wrong side of thirty
and maybe you’re starting to notice
your fleeing hairline
the creaking which starts in your ankles
and connects your milestones
to knees and back and neck
maybe you don’t see the point of getting out of bed today
or tomorrow
maybe your wife has started to let herself go
after the kid came
love handles and cellulite thighs
sagging **** and a birds nest atop her wrinkled face
You resent the kid
because for him
the world is so open
full of choices made on his fickle whim
while you wither away
giving every part of yourself
so one day he can be on the wrong side of thirty
and you can rest easily
on the wrong side of a grave
a wry smile stretching the skin of your corpse
*It’s your turn now you ungrateful *******

He comes in around the same time
every Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday
eating alone save for the newspapers
constantly clutched beneath his arm
his spectacles worn to ice
his windbreaker and khakis
every time ordering the same
salad, soup, and pasta dish
He doesn’t talk much
and I like that
his words are rare occurrences
of honest observation
a reflection of the aged, sad look
which he wears on his face
every Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday
just before the dinner rush
I never see him arrive or leave
simply he appears
a ghost from an old photograph
walking among the swirling mess
of flesh, blood, and heartbeats
I bet he drives an Oldsmobile
or maybe a buick
stick shift with faded leather interior
I bet he had a wife once who loved him
and children who weren’t too grown up
to give him a call every now and then
just to check in
I think about this man
under the closing-time moon
as I pull myself into my car
and leave
away with my own life
my own story
and I aim not to forget him

It’s funny how despite different tastes
we all have a taste for music
my life has never felt complete
with a soundtrack. A beat
as a kid I was told not to fidget
told to just sit still
but my person was anything but chill
I have always had a thing for rhythm
I felt it in the way people speak
the way a husband sneaks around
keeping his wife trapped and meak
whether it is weak or strong
I could always hear that drumming song
It started with a rap song I heard
Hi My Name Is by eminem
but then again it had always been with me
it’s the reason time scares me
because in the beating tick of those two drum sticks
I could see the sound of life wasted
and it made me want to get wasted
black out drunk at fatal altitudes
when I was in middle school
we were angry
and disrespectfully spiteful
so we rocked long socks and listened to punk rock
then It was about being a bad guy
a real force not to be reckoned with
so we wore black Tshirts depicting violent scenes
and joined the screaming heavy metal mosh pit
a place to fit for all the kids who didn’t anywhere else
as I got older I put the heavy metal on the shelf
if I’m being honest it was all just a little silly
angsty teens with lofty dreams which they told us
were unattainable so we went out looking for cheap thrills
rather than develop any marketable skills
The first time I felt marketable
it gave me chills
The National in Richmond Virginia
an old theatre
converted into a sanctuary for the sanctimonious masses
to forget everything they learned in their classes
a place where kicked *****
wasn’t always a bad thing
I remember I was there
in the tenth grade
to see the Atmosphere show
because the lead singer - Slug
was my hero
his words enveloped me in a bear hug
which said you’re doing just fine kid
and in that crowd of tattoos and hipsters
and the ghetto kids wearing chips on their shoulders
I was high
but not on drugs
I was high on expressionism and the loftiness of ideas
The men behind the microphone
wearing a costume of stage lighting and swaggering egos
made me feel at home
for the first time in a while
they said things like God Loves Ugly
and Every Day Can’t be the Best Day
and the DJ’s worked the turntables
like a good lover brings their partner to ******
I didn’t know anybody else at the show
but don’t think for a minute that I was alone
we were all connected as brothers by bond and spilled blood
of our heros who were cut short before they could say the things
which we all needed to hear
We respect the story tellers
because it is how we come to terms with tougher aspects of life
and I was flying high on the dreams of kids just like me
saluting the scarred, worn, souls who had made it
who were making the path that we would one day walk
with the cut of their jive and the strength of their talk
***** of the walk
chalked outlines of the end of loneliness
They called us hop heads
and we’d reply
you’re ******* right we are
hip hop didn’t save my life
it just stopped me from taking me
for granted

The angels are calling me home
to churches at night where concrete features
bleed with the blood of artists
who were consumed by their pride
in their search for God:
Hide and seek champion of all time
which is completely relative
I’ve been on this planet since the days where
creatures fled the Jurassic blackness
a pen is just a pen is just a pen is just a gateway
into a mind afflicted with rational thoughts
and freud would say a pen is just a pen
but sometimes a pen is a *****
and that’s the world we live in
I walk the same twelve square blocks of this city
and the police chase me away from
******* on fire hydrants
drunk on the steps of city hall
I bought myself a thick glass of self-esteem
and fed it to my ego
before I threw up all of things we never wanted heard
onto a piece of paper
a hotel bar napkin
which reads I love you
The angels are calling me home
but I falter
because I want my time to fly
so I fly on the wings of dead street birds
and childhood kites
and when it rains it pours
and I collect it in a cup and baptize myself in nature
a poet is a poet is a poet
but I say
a poet is a poet is sometimes a jack ***

Whether you know it or not
you are armed and dangerous
your voice is far more powerful
than the droning of propaganda
being churned out of the register machine
take a roll call of the injustices
spit in the face of men masked in good intentions
take personal gain and **** it
drag its corpse behind you through ***** and Gomorrah
be the vesuvius ready to blow
the secret which they don’t want us to know
is that we hold far more power than they
we are the future of our universe
and that’s worth more than a luxury lexus
be loud
do not allow silence to fall over you like snow
tainted black with the carcinogenic second hand smoke
of what they would call progress
be politically incorrect
take risks
walk along the edge and create something which brings us closer to the divine
we need your voice
because one voice on its own is easily drowned out
but together we form a thunderous monstrosity
capable of bringing destructive earthquakes
to the temple of the holy dollar worshippers
this life has no goal
no end point
life is not a video game
equipped with linear objectives
graduation completed
move on to the family life dream
drilled into your head with vicious screams
of all of those who dared leave the pack and path
and fell short
mutilated by forced silence
they tell you
you are free to do exactly what we tell you
I say
they are only as free to destroy
as we allow them
do not mock the solitary raised fist
we all have fists
brothers and sisters clinging to each other
against an unholy rip tide
you are right
even when you are wrong
Life is a blank canvas
filled with wonders and walking waking nightmares
life is simply just
whatever you choose to make of it
will you survive through fear and cowardly silence
or will your voice rise above the rest
a blinding phoenix which dares to contest the sun
for the center of the universe?

I told her
You don’t want any part of this
I’m a promise broken on the cracked surface
of loose lips going down with sinking ships
but I’m the rat fleeing the wreckage
to wash up on your shore
carrying the plague of free thought
and loud voices
she said
you don’t know what I want
and you don’t know what I need
and she was right
but she didn’t need to be my muse
all the others I’ve thrown empty and lifeless
in a ditch on the side of the road
which connects my **** to my gut to my heart to my brain
called the I-90 soul
and she says
yeah you go go ahead and pour another
poor ******* you
so down on yourself
because self-loathing
and low self-esteem
are in
and your calculated mask of apathy
is only to draw the people closer
So I said to her
I’m the spider in the web?
and she said
no you’re the abandoned dog
scavenging the streets
growling at strangers
when all you really want is a nice home and a good petting
Most people wouldn’t advise mistaking dogs for wolves
and she said I’m not the one who’s mistaken
listen to me woman
you might think that on the surface it’s all swagger, ego, and witty cynicism
but on nights spent lonesome
I waltz with my madness beneath the chandelier of the killing moon
I smoke and drink to quiet my mind
because no matter how prolific of a writer I am on a given day
I lose more words than I catch
and it drives me to dark corners of my mind
where razor blades and pills sound appealing
and let’s not get started on the selfishness,
she said who isn’t selfish
and I said you will always come second to the words
the only thing I know how to love
because I know how much I hate them at times
know how much I wish they’d stop
my head is full of drunk six year olds careening bumper cars into my skull
and they never go away
they just grow more quiet
and I go through periods of isolation
where any other human presence is just an obstacle of my test
my quest is never ending
just like the great human tragedy
So you don’t want me?
I do, and I want you to want me
but I need you to know
that you shouldn’t
but I’m selfish
I’m hungry for validation
and I can’t lie
the way you look in that outfit
looks like my next best poem
so sure,
be mine,
but remember that I warned you
the thing is about writers
we are as passionate as they come
but you won’t find a more fickle bunch

They tell us they have our best interests at heart
as if They could ever have any idea towards
what Our best interests might be
the songs coming from my car stereo
asks me
“they’re out for presidents to represent them.
You really think a president could represent you?”
I say cease the gentrification
of neighborhoods which hold more history
than you hold fake smiles
and if we have an issue of poverty
maybe you shouldn’t focus as much
on roping clean cut white students
into your neighborhood
to raise property values
and instead focus on repairing
an entire portion of the population
which we enslaved with chains and drugs and crimes
a whole segment of our reality
which we told were no good
and lazy
and hopeless
but act surprised when they turn to crime, drugs, and violence
***, Drugs, and Rock’nRoll
but that’s only if you’re affluently white
for the rest of the world it goes
STD’s
whole generations brought to their knees beneath the heaving weight of substance abuse
and a small fragment of an idea, a belief, that the only thing that can save them
is their ability to create something from nothing
a rap entrenched in justified outrage
or a man who came from less than nothing
sailing through the air
to slam the basket through the hoop of everything we told him was out of reach
My white guilt is fighting with my white privilege
and it’s leaving me left asking
What makes them any worse than me?
from the jobs I’ve worked the only thing I learned
was that all that divides us
is those who know how to hustle
and those who know how to take
We spent hundreds of years trying to break
their spirit down like the roads in the ghetto parts of town
but as a kid
some of my greatest heroes were the poor and disenfranchised
who came from nothing and carried with them only their voice
and their story
and It’s easy for me to sit here in my apartment
demonizing the things I didn’t choose to benefit from
The first hip hop show I went to
I carried a bag full of insecurities
they read of a list that went like this:
I am an over-privileged white boy
who never had to work for a single thing in his entire **** life
so what right do I have here with these people?
this is the closest these people come to God
and that makes me and outsider
a blasphemous heathen
a representative of the cult which cuts down their leaders
and herds their youth like sheep
but I can say I never paid money for a pair of Jordans
not facilitating the death of brain washed lost children
sacrificed so some CEO’s can give his escort a fatter tip
before going back to his family
whom he assures he loves
and the men behind their podiums
clad in suits which cost more money than some make in a year
cry wolf time and time again
and time and time again
we lock ourselves away in isolation and panic
because that’s all they want from us
they want us silent and docile
so they smother our protests
with scare tactics
keep them afraid
keep them wary and nervous
keep their fingers inches from triggers
keep them buying
keep them divided
I was watching the news
a White kid took his parents’ car out on a joy ride
“Oh he’s just a kid. Kid’s make mistakes. It’s actually kinda funny.”
a few months earlier
the same story about a black kid
“He’s already a criminal. What a shame he was raised so poorly. This is what’s wrong with the country.”
and I don’t have the right answers to respond to that
all I know
is I think we’d fare far better
if we spent less time listening to the fear
and more time being human beings

Make me famous
take my name and stake it in the ground
call me your savior
a blazing stranger
ranger of your unsaid thoughts
make me famous
give me the limelight
and kiss my picture each night
before you fall to sleep
only so you can dream of me
let me tell you how to be
how to live
how to give me your attention
while all the kids sitting in detention
quote my ****
make me famous
I’ll sell your shoes
I’ll be the brand logo of your clothing line
I’ll be the most loco average Joe shmo
to ever come winking across your television set
my Mind set is set in its ways
ready set go
and let the words flow poetic
so all the people can worship me: Pathetic
Make me famous
so I can reach apathetic kids
and convince them that I have all the answers they need
and for a small fee -
a tithe of everything you are -
I can teach you things you never knew you needed to know
while I drive my flashy, new car
I’ll crash it on the strip
flip a few bills to some cops
before blowing my intake at the *******
I’ll sell you a page of happiness for your soul
the sole survivor of a time the history books burned
my life takes a turn towards neon tribute
while I look for something a little stronger to shoot
If I were a little younger I’d probably be knocking on your front door
after your loot
looting words from the thin air and ****** them
making them state the statements that I hold dear
just so I can have your ear for a few minutes
and I’ll never be finished
long after my body is dead and gone
my name will be spoken in hushed tones
by young poets, scribblers, and thinkers
across the plains of save us
once they make me famous

I need you
The most beautiful three words I know
in the morning you are my first thought
and I keep you close to me throughout the day
I smell you on my fingers
and feel the urge claw its way through my nerves
and If I go too long without you
I’m nothing but flushed sweats
and anxious nail biting and fidgety hands and feet
If I have to wait any longer
I get cranky
every voice a whip crack of annoyance
I need you
at night I can’t sleep without you
and I am self-aware
hopelessly addicted
it’s always been one of my themes
and I have no interest in the science behind it
just the simple statement of humanity it bares
I need you
and if I can’t reach you
I’m willing to do whatever it takes
just to get another taste
hopelessly addicted

A fist split the silence
the hard packing sound
followed by a liquid clogged choke
and Joe went under the water
limp in my arms
crimson red permeating through the cool blue salt water
of my parents’ pool
Nolan rubbing his hand - laughing
**** I didn’t mean to actually hit him
and we all laughed because it was a play fight
we were young, looking for answers which didn’t exist
so we filled the void like many of us did
with the seething, impotent aggression of youth
It went Gangsta rap
to punk rock
to heavy metal
and Joe and Nolan were in a band
and Joe and Nolan professed their love of Satan
because Satan never made them sit still and be quiet
they burned bibles and summoned demons
from an online version of the Necronomicon
and we went to shows
at fourteen and fifteen
drinking beer and whiskey in the alley out back
with all of the local rock stars
we hurled ourselves -
arms draped around each others’ shoulders -
into the swirling whirlwind of fists
and studded leather
and sweat and beer and blood
where grown men punched us in the face
and we gave back as good as we got
hugging afterwards in the warm glow of our pain
we were alive on the front lines
hanging from the edge that everybody else strayed from
domesticated wolves scared of electric fence flags
Nolan went crowd surfing at the Municipal Waste concert
only to be dropped into a stomping pile of ******* kids
his lips split open and I gave him my bandanna to soak up the blood
I still have that ***** rag around here somewhere
He needed six stitches inside his lower lip
but we didn’t leave until after the show
even when the fire marshals came to shut us down
when ceiling fans and trash cans were being thrown around like beach *****
we were just kids
confronted with the meaninglessness of everything we had been raised to hold on to
like life rafts
we were just kids to whom
destruction seemed far more important
than creation
if we were ever going to make anything for ourselves
in this concrete clad hell scape

I may not be good for much in this world which seems to have forgotten us
but armed with a handful of words
I am capable of feats
most people couldn't begin to imagine
I talk to a lot of younger kids
and they say
I want to be a writer
like you are trying to be
and I say to them
are you sure?
because every form of art isolates us from humanity
writing especially
and the rejections pile up faster than the bills and calls from collection agencies
and the doubt brings you down to rock bottom
ever held a knife against your own throat?
one slash away from a restful eternity
and if you think you can do it -
more power to you
but just know
that we're in the jungle
and I might be your friend
but it's just as likely that I get hungry
and cannibalize you
because the market is flooded
and I don't need any more competition

Everybody's got their own words
You quote mine
Everybody's got their own story
I wrote mine
Everybody thinks I'm ******* nuts
Wanna hold mine?

We were dandelion seeds cast out by the aimlessly reaching kick of a child
a God who we had never heard from
as we ran amok the coast of North Carolina
the beach calling to us a challenge sent forth from the end of all things
an experience that would stay with us well after we had washed the sand from between our toes
The world was lit up through a golden screen of carelessness
and our sunburned skin quickly hardened and the salt made it leathery
drinking from the chalice of fading youth
we came alive like machines and hailed the night
the nights where we became a wash in lust and solo cups full of tears
tears we never let loose because we needed all the water we could get
we ate space cake and counted the stars as they blinked at us
urging us to communicate and comprehend the message of the forever unfurling cosmos
The mornings were ruby and sapphire clashing where heaven meets the horizon
and in the cold grasp of the Atlantic we were baptized
emerging fresh and innocent and smooth
The seagulls left us alone after sensing our leap into desperation
and every face was the face of a long lost friend
we never knew we even had
Police cars were taxis and untold punchlines
and the word adult was blasphemy
we bathed our arms in holy fire and sent smoke signals out to nobody
which read:
we are here in the midst of all things. We are what we make of ourselves and we reserve the right to not know the answers
dancing inside the expansive night of your mouth
where each tooth protruding from pink exclamation was its own full moon
and your tongue an opal rendition of the sisyphusian tides
we eroded our soul against the ceaseless crash of waves
and fell asleep where we were last standing
we took hallucinogenic mushrooms and spat in the face of the old ideals
and in the chaos all we were really trying to do
was forge ourselves strong
in all the places we feared were most vulnerable
we wanted to come out of it strong
unchanged
wholly us
…
but did we?

The flavor of my youth
was skateboards and punk rock
heavy metal and mischief
walking through Cary town
with pockets full of change
and crushed singles
sodas in hand
and skateboards under the other arm
in the gated community we lived in
we would find the houses
where we knew the owners were away on vacation
and we took to the stairs on four wheels
to glide through the air like arrows shot from some towering bow
made of concrete and asphalt
and we went to shows in the city
dressed in the armor of wristbands, ripped jeans, and faded band shirts
drunk on our parents’ beer and skunk ****
drunk on the promise of a night open to any footfall we chose
and we jumped up and down in mosh pits
just trying to feel anything real
anything which tasted like living
we stalked from house to house cloaked in the witching hour
and pillaged our knick knacks from the garages of neighbors we never knew
padded fingertips pressing against doorbells
1...2...3…
now run
we didn’t have time for school
or the teachers trying to bring us down
but we always had time to trek through the woods with a bowl
smoking **** until we got to the mall
where we ******* around until mall security chased us out
we did not always make the greatest decisions
but I am **** glad I made them

As kids we played football
maybe you call it soccer
but it doesn’t matter
There was this pitch
in the park across the street
from my childhood town
tucked away in my memory
like distant church bells
and the smell of honeysuckle
on that pitch we played world cup
or full scale games if enough kids were out
and we got competitive
mud tracks and red thighs
never actually keeping track of the score
just who was playing best
and if I’m honest
it wasn’t often me
but it was never about the game
it was about the bonds we developed
on the field all building towards the same goal
a picture of crossbars
and side netting
and grass greener than it could be
in any other slice of time
and the sound
the sound of leather boot smacking against the ball
still wet with rainfall from the night before
we played football as kids
because at times
it was the only thing that made any

hold on to the small victories
these are the hand and foot holds
that your survival clings to
there will be an avalanche
rock slide
mud slide
of rejection and doubt and defeats
but these small victories
a comment from a stranger
or something greater
have roots which run deep
and at times you have to say
kiss my animus
*******
and hold on
like your life depends on it

A mother is a nightlight
a mother is the stinging of alcohol on grazed knees
I know it hurts
but it’s good for you
a mother is the seat belt
which saved you from hurtling towards the street
on forest hill ave and westover hills blv
the scene of the accident
a mother picks you up
and a mother pushes you into the deep end
a mother is four phone calls in a row at eight AM
okay I love you, bye… and one more thing…
A mother is your first happy meal
and your first time using the grown up menu
a mother is kitchens full of the scents which bring us home
no matter how far we might stray from the path
A mother’s love is unconditional
a mother’s love is maddening
a mother’s love is keeping you from going over the edge
and clean sheets
and bike rides to the park
My mother is calling me home
yelling out the living room window into silent earth
urging me to come home for dinner
and I’ve gotta get around to going home soon
because I am hungry
and a mother is your favorite meal
every single day

the roads were slick with ice
at 2pm on a saturday it was 13 degrees
the wind wasn’t a breeze but a bite
the light reflecting from the snow
was blinding
I was going on a walk
because I don’t exercise nearly as much as I should
and today
I felt good
step after step after step
picking up pace
a smile spreading across my face
the strangers I passed
weren’t strangers at all
but long lost brothers and sisters
I never got the chance
to stop and sit with
but when eye contact connects us together
something in their face let me know
that they felt it as well
we are all navigating the ups and downs of this city
the ugly the witty the pretty the ******
just bricks -
on our own, we aren’t much
but at times when we come together
we form odes to the fact that the human spirit can weather any storm
when deflating lungs feel worn
and some bonds become torn
there will always be someone rooting for you
standing on the sideline
saying good luck
I know that I follow in your footsteps
and that means that we have to tread carefully
avoid the thin ice
and pitfalls
no more runner’s walls
cars stalled in the winter morning
but whether you tread towards nicer weather
or walk tight circles around the city blocks with a song stuck in your head
just know that the important thing
is you have to take that first step

You need not walk alone on this path
at times it seems like you are completely alone
in the middle of an alpine mountain range
surrounded on all sides
by thick snow so white it covers your world in blackness
no you needn’t walk alone
in fact you can’t in some spots
you need a support net
a network of supportive people
with hands waiting to catch you
when you fall
and you will fall
I can guarantee it
do not be the hermit
slowly losing touch and losing his mind in his shed
be the person who people would want
standing beneath them
waiting to catch them
when they inevitably fall

Not all monsters have bodies
no,
some monsters are whispers in the middle of the night
the whispers which never stop
they come rising up from the pit of your stomach
the back of your neck
and the lungs in your chest
these monstrous whispers
creeping in from open window
on full moon nights
they say the things
which we know aren’t right
but we believe anyway
these voices
they say things
like you are not good enough
just give up
know when enough is enough
they laugh in moments of silence
come creeping in with self-doubt
not a whimper
not a shout
just a sense of stillness when the lights go out
keeping you up at night on the edge of a knife
too exhausted
to keep up the fight
you worry
how long will these monsters have their foothold
in the panicked pounding of my eardrums?
these monsters which spit on self-love
and lick their gums at the sight
of a broken down frown
of a person wound too tight
but these monsters don’t have bodies
arms legs claws and fangs
these monsters are just voices
all you have to do is drown them out

We were at the lofts
drinking beer and gin and whiskey
while the snow piled up against us outside
played some fifa
lost a few games of fifa
whatever I was drunk
Oh is it seriously almost three
okay me and Hayden have to go
It went bro grab bro grab
bro’s girlfriend hug
and oh look, there’s my gay friend
hug him goodbye
oh, his hands are on my face
oh, he’s kissing my face now
was that Saliva?
Oh Jesus
break away, make a quick exit
see you guys tomorrow or something
feeling like a ******* for feeling like it was ****** up for him to kiss me
am I a *** now?
**** I hope not
I like girls too much
but why did he do that?
everything was so great
he knows I’m not gay
and that I don’t care
but do I care?
the memory of unwanted saliva echoes in my head
I guess sometimes
your gay friend will give you a drunken peck on the cheek
I guess that sometimes
you have to not be such a close minded jack ***
and just deal with it

She said
“Oh you’re such a ******* comedian”
and I laughed at her face
I believe the term is
more than kinda *******
did I ever tell you the one about the
cynical poet with a substance abuse problem?
I know I have a punchline somewhere
in between all these smudged lines of ink
and then she said,
“You over think too much. Just shut the **** up and live.”
and I didn’t say
I live to think of you just shutting up and letting me *******
but instead I went with -
you are probably right. Let’s take a shot
it was a shot in the dark
no I shot the dark
for all the nights I spent barricading my closet door
because I am vindictive at times
and you are so full of vitriol at times
I call you little miss snake bite
and I’m allergic to antivenom
“again with the jokes. When was the last time
you said something actually real?”
when was the last time anybody said
absolutely anything?
“Sarcastic remarks again, huh?”
you’re **** right smarty pants
Then we got drunk
a risky proposition I found myself facing
you swaying to music I couldn’t quite hear
THAT made me nervous
I’ve always been terrified of turning ******
then you said,
“What music?”
and that made me feel a little better
knowing you were possibly
a little ****** too
did you ever hear the one about the
probably in way over his head love struck
funny poetry guy?

Hey guys. Thanks for reading my stuff, and if this is the first time you have heard from me, I hope you will read my stuff. Lately I've been working on a sort of pet project of mine. An online space where young writers can showcase their work. So I started this blog called The Lost and Found (hbaxter94.com). But I don't want this site to be just my work. I've read a lot of good poets on here, as well as other places, and I wanted them to be a part of it. So I am hoping to get some submissions. Poetry, Fiction, Non-fiction - it doesn't matter. (Fiction and non fiction pieces under 3000 words please) If you write honest, powerful stuff which is relevant to growing up in today's post-modern post-internet era culture then I'd love to hear from you. Message me on here or email me at hbaxter94@gmail.com
I hope to hear from some of you wonderful people
           -Thanks Harry J. Baxter

percussion pounds painfully pleasant
boom ba dum boom
there is a certain rhythm
to the way people speak
skip across the plains of this globe
and you’ll hear it
at times when I am at my most idle
I can find my hands
going rat tat tat rat
we listen to hip hop
the scratching sound of a needle drop
enough to catch the breath at the top of the path
making your heartbeat stop
I always fancied guitars
strumming your pain with my fingers
but instead i found that words
pop pop pop
out of my mouth
like faulty machine gun fire
I’ll be your rhythmic drum for hire
waiting at the tail end
of all your punch lines
ba dum tish
angry kids pound graphite graffiti onto their desks
which say things like
SOS
Mike was here
School *****
for a good time call X Y and Z
make me an alarm clock
tick tocking in the corner
like your personal circadian metronome
see, people like we
don’t need a megaphone
we just open our mouth
when we knock our messages out
and let them find a place to call their own
a home for the percussionist

Somebody once told me
no matter what you say -
if you believe it to be true -
speak it with volume
My junior year of high school
I interned for a week
teaching English to middle schoolers
they were working on the creative writing unit
classrooms covered in posters which read things like
no tears in the writer, no tears in the reader
and other good inspirational stuff
some of the kids wrote poems
others wrote short stories
others wrote I don’t know whats
but they all told a story which to them
was an essential truth of life
just waiting to be heard
and when they got up
to share in front of the class
from the shy girl in the soccer shoes
to the tall joker
they all spoke with volume
because some things
are impossible to ignore