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J M Surgent Apr 2014
I think tonight is a
Drink wine, discuss life
And smoke-cigarettes-while-I-fume
Kind of night,

Pun intended.
J M Surgent Apr 2014
So, we’ve had a few dogs, all the same. Golden retrievers with bigger hearts than brains, that want only the affections of those who love them. And those who don’t. My parents love to say how our first golden, Euka, once tried to get in the car with a random woman, solely because she had a laundry basket full of towels, his favorite chew toy.

In my junior year of college, my parents adopted our third dog, yet another golden, with a beautiful, soft white coat, and no brains to match.

My father, mother and brother all sent me pictures of this magical creature, sitting on house furniture and looking like the dog we have always wanted. Little did I know, he was poorly behaved, and peed like a fountain when excited. That never seemed to phase my dad, however, whose always thought I don’t use the dog to his full potential.

“That dog is a chick magnet.”
“I know dad, I know.”
“Really, just walk the dog, and you’ll meet so many women. So many cute, young women. Look at his face, he’s irresistible.”
“Okay, I know, I get it. He’s cute.”
“Yes he is, and he’s yours, so use him to your advantage.”
“I’ll meet a nice girl, she’ll pet him, and he’ll *** on her.”
“If she stays she’s worth it.”
“Well, maybe I don’t want to meet any cute young women right now?”
“Of course you do. You’re 21. You’re at your prime, and I know you can do it on your own, but the dog, he’ll just reel them in. Trust me.”
“You just want me to take the dog for a walk? Or do you want me to get married?”
“The first one first. Then we can think about the second.”
J M Surgent Apr 2014
Words are wonderful,
But you can't take them too serious;

Sometimes they lye.
J M Surgent Apr 2014
Please don't call me "hunni"
Please don't call me "cutie pie"
Please don't call me "pookie-bear"

I am a 22 year old male.
It's not too much to ask.
J M Surgent Apr 2014
There are few things I love in life

And you are one of few.
J M Surgent Mar 2014
Side-walking, in the heat
On a path near the street
In a state so unlike my own
Three youths in march
Sun kissed by summer shenanigans
We walked, hopped, skipped and jumped
The tar hot enough to fry an egg on
Ourselves not far from
Our eyes on everything but the future
That I saw it
A perfectly cut rose, placed
Between the cracks of the sidewalk
Standing tall
And as I stared down at
Wilting petals dead for water
I thought about the complexities
Of summer time life
And the everlasting patterns of
Love that a rose held
In petals it grew
Only to die in the heat of dead summer
Only to die on the side of a road
Placed in memorial
Which they passed without a wink
Or the slightest of grazes
Of burning empathy
For life ahead
The linear path they could see
Of the sidewalk beyond
Running along an endless street,
That I realized I could never
Ever explain her to them.
J M Surgent Mar 2014
You
I can’t wait to never need to speak to you again, you raging *****, you breaker of hearts, you crusher of dreams, you cold sore on the black mark of my current love...
I can't wait
To de-friend you on Facebook,
Because that's all that really matters.

I hate you,
I really do.
Triceratops.
I needed one last line.
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