back leaning against the tub
forehead resting in forearms
on the toilet seat
just waiting for the ***** to come
but ******* wouldn't you know
it's taking its **** time
the cold of the tiles
feels good
on the bare skin of the thighs
and the sweats come out
bucket after bucket
Lean further into the tub
wouldn't it be nice to sleep there?
to wrap up in a blanket
a taco of heart racing
too drunkenness
hoping to find a land
where they could finally be free
hoping to find a land
with the comfort of
a bathroom floor

We met in the beat hotel
a room
or two
or three
or some other number
brimming with
expatriots
hiding from society
they shared ideas
and art
and passion
and life
and through their drug fueled dreams
they helped change the mold of the Earth
a hotel for people
not afraid of the different
or scary
or challenging
the hotel which brought forth
lyrical music in written form
and freedom of spiritual apathy
drugs and drink and danger
and a sense of the footloose
dominated all
they used every aspect of life
the unspeakable and the unhearable
the beat hotel
I wish there were more

And they were lost
among the TV commercials
and among reality TV
commercially it wasn't perfect
but it raked in enough
she felt out of place
in a world meant for less
he wished she wouldn't
wished she could understand
the need to experience
the others
the hurt
the broken
the lost
they were lost
in the pits
of the Minotaur
unsure of when
their yarn would run out
they were lost
in catacombs
built for great
Egyptian kings
They were lost
just like everybody else

Hey what's up
what are you doing tonight?
that's cool who with?
Are you with any guys tonight?
sounds like a fun time
don't tell me these things
I can't wait until you're back
I need to see you
Yeah it's going to be fun
I've been thinking about you
I'll see you then, I guess
*I'm hoping you feel the same

I'm stuck singing the whiskey blues
left in the apartment
feeling the looseness overtake
feeling the who cares
coming to the front
feeling the love yous
aching deep

The whiskey blues,
nothing better
nothing worse
for a hungry soul
hungry for
soulful hunger
and a sense
of the poison

The whiskey blues
left singing
tunes of a time
which never graced
my presence
Left looking at pictures
which rock the idealist
sensibilities which dominate
my gut

The whiskey blues
you better believe
that I'll be thinkin'
of you
fluttering through the tunnels
of my sleep deprived brain

The whiskey blues
just another excuse
to express
my thoughts of you

Night owl
on the prowl
for nights untold
under the moon
I feel at home
peaceful and calm
It listens like no other
to the shrieks and howls
and cast no stone filled gaze
I'm a night owl
and I don't always know
what prey I'm looking for
but that doesn't mean
I'm not out hunting

The night was spiked with energy
like the charge of air
after a lightning strike
each and every one of them
had their own motives,
to drink,
to meet,
to experience,
to try,
to do,
to ****,
to love,
to live,
to let come what may,
it was a night of suspension
freedom not from consequences
but the fear of consequences
a chance to relish in what their pastors' frowned upon
a chance to make their parents' disappointed
and for some,
just a chance

One was a pseudo-intellectual
he was a college learned man,
a phony philosopher
who was good at passing off trivia
as honest to god thoughts
trying to impress
some impressionable young thing
hoping for validation

One was a romantic
hopelessly addicted
to the fairer ***
with misplaced ideas
that he was
some sort of poet
and not just a spout of
pretentious,
whiny venting
just looking to get hopelessly lost

Another was an on the way sociopath
enrolled in the fraternity of the machismo
with every other word being
***** or ***** or ****
he wanted action
experiences to shape and harden
to be a fine edge
blessed with a fatal sharpness
he was looking for something
to prove his vulnerability

They all came together
people of all types
intolerant in the passing of time
their lives like so many grains of sand
falling in sand timer opulence
fear and inhibitions
slowly fading
like mixing whiskey and pain killers
they could live the night
to the beat of their own passion,
drives,
desires,
the night bent around their will
like moss creeping up fiber glass suburban houses
what did they care?
it was just another throw away night
in a long list
of thrown away nights

They never cared for much,
born into a world
which changes faster than they
attachments lost in the dull facade of trends
attachments never made
hooked to quivering emptiness
they never cared for much
other than a second look
The big man flashed neon colors
from the corner of the room
sitting in a box
of demanding power
and their thoughts are contained
confined
by character limits
points of data
and ceaseless lifeless numbers
numbers which scrawl the wall
like days left of a sentence
they see their souls
on the empty bus stops
and bleak dark houses
rocking in the stale night wind
and their cups never fell empty
nor did their lungs go long
without suffering
trying to find some chemical reaction
which might dissolve the world around
like mad scientists
they didn't care for much
only a yawn
a yawn
and an illusion

the words sliced deliciously
drawing not blood
but ink
furious passionate ink
she was just words on a page
in a human shell
he was just
another who wanted to try
with expendable arms and legs
but still the ink came
the words sliced horizons
not vertically
so as not to ****
only to bleed
and before the cut
has a chance to heal
pens and greedy fingers
jammed into the wound
hoping to take
the last drop
of art

The land loomed around him
full of everything
everything which he could want
everything he detested
like a mirror maze
he saw himself
bending wildly out of shape
cast in odd angles
the clouds rained upwards
and the people spoke
in a strange foreign tongue
harsh and lyrical
and blunt
the road he was on
was paved with
cast gold corpses
pretty corpses
would he become the next stretch?
it seemed unlikely
armed with only
a much needed sense of arrogance
he walked on
towards champion mountain
the best that ever was
the best that would ever come
entirely forgettable

The mind is conflict
the human mind
is incapable
of truly grasping
the concept
of infinity
and yet
within the mind
the imagination
is endless
so people who say
they really know themselves
are liars

Selina grew up in an orphanage
she was a *******
her father disappeared
after the Great War
her mother
dead from poverty
She was a Catholic
of the highest devotion
she loved Jesus
and Saint Joseph
and after she was
past schooling age (14)
she went off
to serve as a maid
for a good Catholic family
she wanted to be a nurse
but circumstance dictated
that she never could be
not enough school,
then, when she was 17
the 2nd Great War came
and women were needed
to work the steel mills
and shipyards
of Stockton England

she got a job
painting bombs
she signed little things on them
like,
take that ******,
but the job
caused her asthma to flare
so she was reassigned
as what was then known as
a postman
clopping around the streets
happily delivering mail
She met a man
named John Hartley
and she intended to marry him
her friends warned her
he's a bachelor,
a woman hater,
but he was also
quite the handsome soldier
they married
after the war
and had five children
three of whom
became nurses
proud tears falling
like rain drops
a life of hardships
which she batted away
with Christ as her shield
summed up
by her
giving her children
what she never had

There was this girl,
she consumed him
so completely
that he loathed her
he loathed her
because he knew
he could never actually loathe her
even if she set fire to apartment
while he was sleeping in it
he want to an addict meeting
the circular discussion
fell on him
HI,
My name is blah blah
and I have a girl problem

"Do you like me?"
the words took courage
courage which would go unnoticed
"Not really, that's why we're so good"
words cushioned by a teasing smile
it was that same **** smile
which chased her dreams
all night long,
"You're bad"
"I'm certainly not good"
"You're nothing but a quick tongue,
aren't you?"
it made him laugh
"I'm hurt you didn't mention
my killer ***"
she had to admit,
it wasn't too shabby
"I think you love me."
"I love pizza,
but let's not get into that"
she looked cute
colored by the flush of frustration
"God, you're an ***"
"You wouldn't have it any other way"
"You wouldn't let me"
"No,
No I suppose I wouldn't"
they stood awash in a comfortable silence
she wished he would agree with her
he wished that he could
he knew that he did
"What do you want
to love me for anyway?
You are leaving again
after the summer"
"So what?"
"So that."
she was a ball of energy
and he wanted to take her in
and feed off of her,
wanted to keep her fire going
yet he feared,
his ice couldn't be melted
she tucked her chin
into her breast
and he cupped her face
by the jaws
leaned down
and gave her a kiss,
"Things are always better
in the summer"

The next time you see a girl
who is wearing a T-shirt
with writing across the chest
and she gives you a ***** look
for trying to read it,
just wink,
and tell her you're illiterate

freedom is a ten year old boy
who just got out of school
for summer vacation
and has a long plan
of climbing trees
and skinning knees

Freedom is sitting on the beach
as the tide comes in
and the sun sets
because you have nothing better to do
than wait
for the sea to lick your feet

Freedom is propping up in a hammock
with your favorite
beaten up paper back
listening to crickets chirp,
and birds tweet,
and watching fireflies ,

Freedom is finding that one thing
which encompasses you
so completely
that you couldn't imagine
doing anything else
for the rest of your days

Freedom is letting go,
letting the small things slide

He came in on the Greyhound bus
with deep brown eyes
smoldering like coals in his skull
the lines on his face
and the final remains
of puberty induced acne
made his age impossible to guess
He put up in the YMCA
locked up in his room
smoking with the windows open
drinking Wild Irish Rose
It felt good
as it's warmth flowed through his veins
he felt the tightness which gripped him
dissolve until he felt
adrift in an ocean of wine
He went out on the streets
The city was mostly dead at night
which allowed him the privilege
of being alone,
his destination was unknown
and near empty buses
filled with few unfortunate to be awake
He thought
he might like to burn this place down
so something,
anything could happen
to spur him from
apathetic footholds
their had to be some action,
some life,
some danger,
left in the world,
and until then
he would drink and smoke
and wait to die
and he would move,
from town to town
until the road ran out.
A transient

I've been losing my mind
When I meet somebody new
I question if they actually exist
Or if I'm finally
Completely
Bat **** bonkers

Hey Pops,
things got a little crazy back there
huh,
the funny thing is
whenever people would say to me
"You're just a spitting image
of your dad"
I was proud
Proud to think that
one day I could be like you
A family
and riches
and land
and the love of a great woman
then came the move
another country
only meant new troubles
Big city American troubles
far beyond the Drax farming village
I remember the night
you were drunk off of
gin and tonics
which was a feat for you
and you cast iron liver
you told me
to not go to college
unless I knew exactly
what I wanted to do
This surprised me,
you said you wanted to be
an archaeologist,
you climbed the grand canyon
and visited Australia
before your career
which you pursued for us
took its toll

You told my Mum
that for your 25th anniversary
you were taking her abroad
the location a secret
then a week before
you dropped the bomb
"I'm not happy
I want a divorce"
which I could have understood
if it wasn't for the cowardice
which ran through your veins
Old Man,
and I hate you
because I love you
because I can't forget
what you've done for me
the opportunities I've been given
and maybe it wouldn't hurt so much
If I hadn't heard my Mum
sobbing her eyes out on Christmas Eve
so here I am
a prospective college drop out
with nothing but words to cling to
and a determination
to prove everybody wrong
who made comparisons between us
and like I said,
I still love you
but that doesn't mean
that I won't dedicate my life
to undermining everything you wanted
but never had,
Dad,
I'm going to be your worst nightmare
evidence that
You can follow your dreams
and still be a good person
free of coward blood
evidence that
you made the biggest
******* mistake of your life
I will be everything you could have been,
but failed at
Old man,
I love you,
and I thank you
from the bottom of my heart
but at the same time
*******
for teaching me the most important lesson
To let your passions die
cut's deepest of all
Love from
your once and always
son

My hometown
is a place
of rustic beauty
and simple people
a population
under 200
meant that
everybody knew everybody
farmer Neville
and his sheep
always on the loose
and the quiz night
at the pub
just another excuse
to get drunker and drunker
and the private boarding school
which I attended
so rich with false academia
we learned the lessons
which would prepare us
for the false prophets yet to come
and the public school
and their ***** uniforms
where I found my friends
friends who at this point
have arrest records
ranging from assault
to petty larceny
and criminally wasted potential
oh how I miss that town
even now,
because despite the racism
and xenophobia
which infest my kinsmen
I still have to believe
that things can get better
that life there
can match the beauty
of North Yorkshire farm lands
and woodlands
and friendly knowing smiles
My hometown isn't perfect
and I wouldn't have it
any other way

At times it might feel as if
you can't do anything right,
like the only thing you're good at
is ******* things up
and every turn you make
leads only to dead ends,
The clocks on the wall
still tick tock their pretty little hearts out
like laughter,
cruel laughter
at how broken you are,
but the important thing
is to never forget
that a broken clock
is right
twice a day

Gone are the times
when we feared
the monster in the closet
no,
now we fear
the monster in the mirror
these forehead wrinkles
where did they come from?
(Probably from a pack a day)
The cynicism,
when did it infect the veins
the arteries which run through
the hallways of our body?
Overnight we made the leap
from boys to men
girls to women
growing up
can seem like
one big ******* nightmare
but for every nightmare
there are numerous dreams
beautiful dreams
and the mark of growing up
is being able to see the choice
between living a nightmare
or chasing a dream

things change
like the passing of the seasons
don't take this fro granted
change is scary
yet at the same time
change is right
change is good
change is cleansing
people change,
inevitably,
any attempts to change the change
are futile,
it's all a matter of perspective
so don't ever think of it as a goodbye
goodbyes are poisonous things
rather,
think of it as
another chance to say
hello

The boy was alone
alone while surrounded
by the phantoms of what was,
a torturous lonesomeness
which hardened him
what was once warm and vibrant
was slowly cooling
like the Earth
after the cosmic soup of the big bang
He wasn't quite ready for it
to be tossed into the pit
of living and breathing
he never asked for it
but he knew he had to be tough
stiff lipped
deadly,
so he quelled the complaints
tucked them down in his heart
which had adopted the pace
of war machines
his view had shifted
a world once of wonder
was now infuriating
he wanted to end it
one great final bang
to end all bangs
so that he might be left
to whimper
to be warm again
to miss everything
he had just sent
flaming into oblivion
he was on the reaper's path
a dead man walking

Redemption came forth
and hit him
like a moment of adolescent embarrassment
it wasn't the girl herself
rather,
what she stood for
in his eyes
she was afflicted by the same world as he
and yet she found ways to dance
and sing
and love
he admired that most,
little by little
she coaxed him forward
back from beyond the brink
of primordial passions
back from beyond the tipping point
between helping and hurting,
slowly his anger changed
from something bitter and lifeless
into a fiery explosion
splitting the night sky
a second sun
she showed him how to shape it,
direct it,
sharpen it,
she showed him
how his aim may stay true,
and she made him deadlier
because she gave him a purpose
and a target,
somewhere to go.
And before long
he could remember
what it was like
to still have innocence
his rage simmered down
and became healthy passion
healing and assuring
no longer a sword
but a shield
and he had the notion
that maybe one day
this creature from on high
could even allow him
not to just give love
but to accept it
which was the greatest
gift of all

don't let people tell you
what you can and can't do
don't let people steer you
or tell you it's not possible,
don't let people buy you
define you
hide you
or anything else
because a lot of people forget
we're all born champions
and that's something
that nobody can take away
just hide and blur and cover
and don't ever forget
that you're a ******* animal
and the people,
and the things,
standing in your way
can pile so high
that you get scared sometimes,
but don't let it stop you,
don't even let yourself stop you
time to move those mountains kid

Animus,
(Noun):
purpose,
intention,
animating spirit,
mind,
courage,
passion,
wrath,
living rather than simply being alive,
it's my favorite word

They call it substance abuse
but I'm always the one
who wakes up bruised and hungover
catching the morning after sweats
soaking my bed sheets
and besides from a few broken bottles
and certain plants
which I burn to ash
the substances always seem
to be doing just fine
what a bunch of ******

She was everything he was not
He was everything she wanted
She was a nervous wreck
he was too, but in denial
She wanted to save him
from not wanting to be saved
He wanted to protect her
from whatever might come
they were young
and yes,
they were stupid too
just like everybody else
She went away
He stayed a hometown boy
who wasn't at home
She could sing
He could listen
she was a wild child
looking for a port to settle
he was a nice guy
looking for something
not so nice
children of divorce
kindled a feeling of
let's make this work no matter what
and maybe it won't
they don't seem to care
too many romcoms
and too many chipped shoulders
all they wanted
was to write
their own love story

so i have this lighter,
I love the thing
more than I love most people
It has a place of permanence in my pocket
so that I never leave home without it
the chrome box glints in varying lights
and it makes a cool click when you open it up
it's enough to feel like some sort of
John Travolta greaser wannabe
but it isn't a real zippo,
I had a real zippo once
which my grandfather gave me
it was from WW2 and it was gold
but time broke it to ****,
no now I'm stuck with the fake one
just a small sized bic
in metal casing
any bic would fit
not unique
but somehow distinguished
I think that's why
I like it so much

I know I did my thing
whatever the **** that is
but I have never
been more graced
than the moment I actually met you
you perfect ******* girl
who is so not perfect
our lives are intertwined with ****
I know it better than most
but baby listen here
it's a wild world
and we've always had fun
so i know the time is coming
where our fun
is less fun than actuallity
but I don't want that to happen
I cling to our time together
like a child
clings to his first memory of Christmas
because you have shaped me
to be good,
******,
mean,
loving,
caring,
desperate,
and as time goes on
My life shrinks away
like the time we have left
so please
ignore my flaws
and perfections
show me how
the world ends

You ******
you absolute ******* *****
I mean seriously
how much of a ****** are you?
silent to your friends
silent to the parentals
silent to yourself
except for in times of strife
(as if you know real strife)
you just want to be nice,
right,
correct,
for the girls you string along
you feel for all of them
which is why
you are afraid of everything
afraid of committing
afraid of hurting
afraid of loving
you love them
almost as much
as the self loathing
which runs through your veins

Scaredy cat
Scaredy cat
what was all you were good at?
making her feel like
less than she was
riding her like a bike
to feel more on top
What are you scared of
scared of a lovely job
loving somebody
who loves you back
too scared to be
too scared to act
a coward

I've found that
all of the major moments
can be captured
in that one exhalation
of the cigarette,
A post ****** drag
a shared smoke with a stranger
a shared smoke with a new friend
it's the smoke which makes us
which defines us
whether we blow it out at once
or in a tiny stream
personally,
I like to blow it all out at once
before inahling it all back in
it calms me
it clears me
it wakes me up
and puts me to sleep
and everything in between
In the breath of a cigarette
I can forget
every other breath
which has come before
or which may come
cleansing
cleansing
cleansing
cancer

Oh you Americans,
how you have forgotten
the Queen's English
is a tragedy,
nothing describes formal beauty better
than the stiff upper lipped
Englishman in me
I mean seriously
you treasonous Yankees
did you forget *******
and ******
and **** hole
I mean
the English swear
better than anybody else
You should try your best
to remember
the forgotten
English words

You don't really know addiction
until you have scrounged
down the back of all of your sofas
only to find one dollar
You don't really know addiction
until you have stolen from your younger brother
you don't really know addiction
until you have stolen from your own mother
you don't really know addiction
until there's nothing left to lose

I used to love all of the drama
all of the *******
I was never a part of it
always off in the corner
watching,
observing,
unknown
the "struggles" my friends encountered
"My boyfriend is a ******"
oh no, please tell me more,
"He likes other girls"
you don't say
"My best friend didn't pay,
for the **** I loaned him"
what a *****
you should probably fight him
go ahead,
feed me what I need,
I won't tell
I have always been best at
being a blank canvas

Tequila sunrise
whiskey moon
the way I like
to encounter my doom

I know that my life
became something else
something unwanted
unplanned
like a teenage pregnancy,
coming out of high school
they would have said
that boy has so much potential
very smart,
highly actualized,
mature

the only thing is,
about the same time I moved out
my parents decided
that my thirteen year old brother
wasn't worth pretending for anymore
they split
like a banana based dessert
and left me
and the three of my brothers
asking questions
our basis for true love
was fragmented
like a cartoon broken heart
and the pieces were too small to pick up,

so now here I am
no job
and no higher learning
to speak of
clinging to the words
which rush around inside of me
I've come to the realization,
there are no ****** up kids
only ****** up parents
and poor kids
who are left to
reestablish a basis
for love and life

Without question
my favorite instrument
would have to be my
electronic Brother typewriter
The chattering of the keys
and the punching of letters
become the melody
of whatever I'm feeling
whether it comes
fast and furious
or slow and pensive
it always knows
what I'm trying to say
and don't get me wrong
I love a good six string
and ivory and ebony keys
may equate to beauty
but they don't compare
to my instrument
It's ancestors graced
by some of the greatest players
to walk this earth
complete with a handle
so that I never have to leave it behind
to me,
there is no music sweeter
than the stories which erupt
from my favorite instrument

In times of great strife
times when people turn to God
for solace and answers
what are the Godless to do?
It's hard to rationalize evil
when you know it might go unpunished
it makes you question
what's the point of trying to be good
but I think the point is
to live in a way
so that others might see
divine hope through your actions

life is a marathon
it isn't easy
it isn't graceful
it isn't pretty
times will come which are so dark
even the sunniest of days feels cold
evil men sow their sins from the shadows
and it stops you in your tracks
like hitting a runner's wall
breathless stinging lungs
scream out against the lack of oxygen
like silent voices mourning a waking nightmare
but even from under the umbra
we might find something
worth redeeming
a helping hand offering us some much needed hydration
or friendly words of encouragement from strangers
life is a marathon
and we can't allow the runner's wall
to stop us from moving forward
for the sakes of our brothers and sisters
who didn't get their fair chance
to cross the finish line

He didn't rob the banks
he didn't shoot any sheriffs
he sat outside of the bank
and burned his money in a pile
he gave his possessions
to the hungover sobs
leaving the drunk tank in the early hours
He left his family
his country
his city
his friends
to become something more
he didn't break any laws
but they still chase him down
they want him back in the fold
to insure that nobody follows
an outlaw
who didn't actually
step outside of the law

You walk in the door
Immediately you are aware of the competition
13 or 14 other guys
Who you imagine
Slobbering and panting
Over one of the few
Available females in the place
An you get mad
Jealous even
Over something
You were no where near having
This party *****
A total sausage fest
We should roll out
I'm sure,
the next party will be different
What are we
Always celebrating?

people have a tendency
to take things for granted
as if to say
it isn't good enough
to meerely be breathing
it's like
we're always wanting something more
greedy when it comes to happiness
or maybe it's just
that we aren't ever really happy
unless we're miserable
a culture which breeds masochists
we just can't see heaven
we are more focused
on worrying about which clouds
will be rain clouds

when it gets too dark
and the daylight is just a lingering memory
forgotten by palpable blackness
She leads me home
when I can't see
but one foot in front of me
and every sound
is amplified to the point
of disorienting confusion
she grasps me by the hand
gentle yet firm
and drags me safely past
the obstacles and debris
she leads me through
night after night
always in search
of another sunrise

If I were Jesus Christ,
I'd take all of your insecurities and taboos
and turn them
inton beautiful hymns,
If i were Jesus Christ
you wouldn't pray to me
instead,
once a day
you would tell the people you love
how you really feel about them
If I were Jesus Christ
cheesy teenage love letters
would be in the book of gospel
and if I were Jesus Christ
you wouldn't just love your neighbor
but your neighbor's neighbor's neighbor
and If I were Jesus Christ
I would take all of your tears
and transform them
into wine
so that we might forget
the harshness of the world

I was a nerdy book loving
video game playing
weird music listening
awkward little short kid
in high school
the only difference
between now and then
is now I'm not in high school
and don't have the money
to buy video games
but throughout it all
since I was around 12 years old
I've been madly in love
like border line obsessed
with words,
they carry a mystique about them
capable of so much
yet objectively irrelevant
they are the conduit of humanity
and existence
and for every girl I've crushed on,
and a few time when it was more than a crush,
I would have picked the words over them every time
the same could go for my good friends
and even when I'm alone,
I'm never really alone
the words are everywhere I look
my first love
my only love

if it's about being rich and famous
then go **** yourself
I'd do this **** if I was homeless
if it's so you can live large
I hope you fail
I hope you crash and burn
harder than entering the atmosphere
If it's for women
then I hope you get them
and all of the STD's that come with fame *******
if you say you do it for the love of it
and then come across
as a pretentious pretender
then please don't talk to me
This constitutes
100 percent
of my work
and 100 percent of my play
it's not about being rich and famous
it's about being who you know
you are meant to be

I met an old man today
I was trying to write in the sun
and was sitting downwind from him
and judgung by the smell
I thought he may have soiled himself
He was sitting with his wife
and they had about fifteen teeth between them
he heard me speak
and asked me If I was from England
yeah, I moved here seven years ago
we're from New York
that's cool, I've always wanted to go
Oh you have to,
There's no city like it in the world
So why are you in Richmond?
New York Is too **** expensive
I remember one time
I was held up by a .38
the poor ******* didn't know
I only had 75 cents in my pocket
Let me give you some advice, kid
If you ever go to New York
Never look up
only tourists look up
you gotta keep on looking forward
oh yeah
and if you have a ***** pack around your waist
and a camera around your neck
you might just get your *** kicked
oh and if you ever get lost In New York
all you gotta do is ask a mailman
they're like the kings of the city
they know everything
I wished him a nice day
told him It had been a pleasure talking to him
and walked home
only looking forward
because I'm no tourist

Somewhere along the line
I lost control of the handle bars
It probably has something to do
with my Parents getting divorced
so even my problems
are teenage cliches
so i try my best not to come across
as some angsty kid
who posts angsty poems
about all of their angst,
so I bottle it up
behind a lock and key mouth
but It always seeps out
in a look I give a stranger
when I feel as If I need to move
at 1 million miles an hour
but my feet are cemented to ground

I never decided to write poems
to be perfectly honest
I always thought of poetry
as being for girls
ignorant?
yes,
but I never claimed to know jack
about anything
but I picked up a pen
hoping to sew the pieces of my broken heart together
and that first poem just wrote itself
it was like something out of this world
like crazies who babble in tongues at church
I loved it
but It isn't enough
I'm bombing down a steep hill
on a beat up ten speed
screaming in terror
screaming in excitement
"Look Ma, no hands"