Now
I posted a poem or two
which grabbed the eyes
of a dozen or so
like glue;
but now I’d like someone to tell me
what I should do

1
I mean,
I got a few followers, right…
“Latenight ****** started following you”
said the notice from the website;
and: “ Moonface at Window started following you”
but I got no comments from the followers
so I have no idea what sort of people they are -
and now, hey, I’m so afraid of all these followers
(these Moonies and Loonies)
I constantly look back over my shoulders
to see if they are following me
And everywhere I go
every other person looks so sus
and when I’m out
(wont to water more often, as it happens at my age)
I visit public toilets (McDonald’s is often cleanest)
and I get this feeling
(deep down in me)
my followers are hiding
in the ceiling
watching me
dadadidado –
But please, O don’t look down on me!

And the rest of you decent people -
will you please tell me what to  dadadidado?


2
And look,
I got all these likes -
which is good, right?
“Pimply Whanker liked this”
“***** TouchBottom liked this”
is all it says
And don’t you hate it
when they don’t leave a comment? –
And now, I’ll never know
what it is they liked…


Can someone fix me right -
what should I dadadidado??

Your absence has drawn
fractions on my belly. It's
bisected the axis of my
heart; it has split me apart.
I am charts and statistics.
I'm percents. You were sharp.
So was I; when I left, I cut
those halves into fourths.
I left one in your bed, now
I'm three quarters saved
and one quarter spent.

(1)
Every idiot is bound
to take life so seriously
and so Tsarevna Euna
saw the torment, the pretension
in all who surrounded her
and she could not smile

Many a fool in earnest faith came -
many a handsome man
who felt there was only one aim in life;
many a clown in grave intent and purpose
auditioned;
many an imbecile from all extremities;
many a thinker, many a philosopher
many a Prophet who said Heaven is Open

But all earnestness is Dumb and Weighty
like the **** of a hippo
and so Tsarevna Euna
saw the gravity
in all who surrounded her
and she could not smile

(2)
And she heard one day
in her lonely walk
in her gray, dry-withered garden
the mouse, the beetle and the catfish talk
of the man who gave away his every coin
of the only three coins he had in the world  

And at last, the Tsarevna knew,
there was one indeed
who knew to treat the world light
(as when a leaf falls, and no one is ******* )
and so she discarded her mournful looks
and she dismissed her father and the royal court
and she grew to be the Wisest Queen of All
and so it is sung to this day,  in all those domains:
*The Princess who never smiled
she had a sudden insight
and she grew to be the Wisest Queen of All

I am camille for real I'm awesome

blanketed in white
skin. that shadow
creeps me out of
my own. it's you
that burns through
gazes, not me. I
burn through pages,
in wrinkles written
with pen. loose grip
on water, I slip into
habits a little too big
for me and it's the same
as being held as a child.
when the distance grew
as I did, my underarms
began to ache, that familiar
fear of being picked up. taller still,
I am, standing in a pit that raises
to my knee caps.

I'm often caught trying
to keep my roots warm
while my face melts.

Here, hold out your hands
Don't drop what I give you
Please don't be repelled
See? It's not so bad
Mucous and slime won't hurt
Blood and water won't burn
Do you feel it beating?
Can you sense its pulse of life?
It's living because of you
It feeds off of your emotion
But don't worry, it replenishes
What it takes, and more
What you give it will take
And what you take it will give
It will not strike out and
Will not harm you
You are in complete control
If you so deign to **** it
Then do it and swiftly
It will follow you and be yours
Forever and always
So as you receive my gift,
I ask you, please be nice
After all, it is my heart you play with

I think that if you were to look at my heart,
Not my mass of blood-pumping tissues and arteries,
But my real heart, the metaphorical, emotional one,
I believe you'd find a glass bowl
Delicate, thin, transparent and fragile
Carefully pumping not blood, but emotion
And as bowls and vases do, it would have an orifice on top
Into the hole are thrown little pebbles, bit stones, junk, debris
All the metaphorical cast-offs from real injuries
Cruel words and nasty deeds
Enter through the eyes and ears
And along the way from some sort of unwanted material
The larger the crime, the more serious the harm, the larger the stone
Thus it falls into my glass heart
Perhaps chipping an edge or cracking against the sides
And the added weight is a strain on the silicate walls
More and more pile in until it cracks
Let's out a squeal of shattering protest, and out pours
The hurt, the pain, the angst
Unless, some kind and gentle words,
The warmth of an embrace, a kiss, a murmur
Or strokes of encouragement and love come along
Patching up the little nicks and scratches
Pulling out a few of the stones, some new, some old,
And healing the scars that can't be seen