“I know when you’re sad,
I can tell when you’re happy,
And I know when something is wrong.”
She says

And I believed her

“Look at his arms,
You have to admit he’s hot,
His shirtless scene is my favourite.”
She says

And I stayed quiet

“You’re always so selfish,
Never do what I want,
You only think about whats best for you.”
She says

And I tried harder

“Lets watch this,
Look at this cool thing,
I swear I’m listening.”
She says

And I knew she wasn't

“I’ll go to bed early so I won’t nap,
I went to bed at 3am,
You’re just so comfy.”
She says

And I had 2 hours to my thoughts

“I hate my mom,
She never listens to me,
I’m just not gonna listen to her.”
She says

And I didn’t give my opinion

“Read my chapter.
Have you read my chapter?
I need validation.”
She says

And I could never bring myself to read it

“You’re not a real writer,
You write really good poetry,
It's too sad for me.”
She says

And I didn’t argue

“Are you tired?
You look tired.
You should get some rest.”
She says

And I wasn’t tired

I like the way your words taste
not nearly copacetic daffodils
but a boisterous bouquet of
letters tied so neatly
so crisply
that I dare not close my ears
even just for a second
because a time without you in my mind
is one I'd rather leave behind

The fine bones of your
petite hands, skin stretching taut over the
blue rivers
of your veins
that roll and roil
across the valley of your
knuckles.

The world is held in your soft palms,
and you don't even realize you could
destroy
my universe
with a simple squeeze
of a cruel fist.

Love is a social construct. That isn’t to say you don’t feel it. A decades-old concept of romance has been shoved down your throat since childhood.

When you’re with someone and it’s real, you know it. Real relationships aren’t stereotypical; if your significant other really knows you, they will find better ways to cherish you than roses and chocolates. Real relationships are built from two separate personalities. They’re custom-made. Real relationships don’t fit into a box, so why do we keep insisting there’s only one way to “love?”

No one’s definition of love is the same– no one feels love the same way. Yet, in a conversation about it, you think you’re on the same page. I think this respective feeling transcends that word. I think it’s sad that we all try to express our own separate, unique feeling with the same three words.

I focus on my bank account
and not feeling alone.
The man in 1080p repeats,
'Where has my America gone?'
Fifty or sixty, and billionaire rich --
I guess I'm his working class *****.

Voting on how to
delude myself best;
I am part of a
dollar bill nest,
where I get to see
but don't get to touch,
where I get to give
but don't get too much.

In the depths
      of life's chaos
there is hope-
     a light of salvation
to pursue.

Joy,
     in a fleeting glimpse,
but a small moment
     of tender peace,

Calms
    the restless
          eternity.

grow me a bushel of ***** or corn
economics 101
declare a War prohibit and decrease the supplies
costs are going to rise
profits will too
and organized crime laughs at you
who won't stand for being lenient
in any way on crime
ignoring statistics
and the DEA
budget grows
the swat teams are well funded
the judges and politicians are left with
the Cartel saying
your choice-
shall it be lead or cash?
Declare The War: we will be able to bring  Jim Crow back.

The poor are going to find ways to make cash.
So lets lock up the disadvantaged, the minorites
just following the graph
taught in that basic business class
that shows the line rising straight up in profits
as we limit supply, the graph on incarcerated Americans
rising plotted against the rise in private prisons,
the rise of militarization of police forces
with the rise in black citizens deaths at their hands:
It's basic: Economics 101:
but, to look reasonably or compare
it to alcohol,  and be honest with ourselves
is left-wing liberalism.
And we all  know the effects of rationalizations.