Tired-hungry days
Get me down like nothing else
Except for those ones,
Missing-the-past days, and you
The days when I just miss you.

Don't call me a poet, because I'm nothing but an untitled crippled feeling
don't call me a poet, because I'm nothing but a person who smokes cigarettes to pass time
Don't call me a poet, because I'm nothing but a person who has notebooks full of past suicidal entries
Don't call me a poet, because I'm nothing but a person who wonders if faith should really be put on the shoulders of a sense I can't see
Don't call me a poet, because I'm nothing but a aqueduct of black and white emotions
Don't call me a poet, because I hate writing and remembering things that have affected me, but I don't know how else to vent so catch me spilling blood on paper as a form of expression
Don't call me a poet, because I'm nothing but a person who hasn't made a dollar of a passion he doesn't even think he's good at

I can't face the truth even if I had time for it, honestly

Oh me, faceless trains remind me how foolish I can be, I crave useless years to come for some reason, I question why things happen for a reason sometimes, but I've rose from what I'm feeling from under the umbrella; scared..
I've rose, and everything I'm about to remember these days, can go **** itself.

if you think too much you wont get **** done.

I don't remember when the **** my poetry became about pleasing people or getting votes or views.
I don't remember when my writings were only created to be approved by a friend.
I don't know when things became about success or money.
I don't know why it turned into pleasing a lover.
But as soon as it did become about those things, I lost my spark, and suddenly writing was a chore.
I'm done with burning in my small spotlight with nothing flowing on paper,
I just want to be free.
It's time I get back to writing the way I used to.
For my emotion. For my passions. For myself.

you hurt like ache
and adderall
and arnica

you hurt like bruises
and battle scars
and broken bones

you hurt like cuts
and *******
and countryside

you hurt like death
and destruction
and die-hard

you hurt like electricity
and emergency rooms
and edit-undo

you hurt like *******'s
and fire
and fallen trees

you hurt like garbage cans
and gonorrhea
and gang ****

you hurt like hell
and holes in the road
and heartache

you hurt like israel
and illness
and ignition fumes

you hurt like jaundice
and jugular veins
and jack in the box

you hurt like karma
and kissing
and kerosine lamps

you hurt like lightning
and love
and literary terms

you hurt like mother
and mary
and moses

you hurt like nakedness
and nosebleeds
and nervous breakdowns

you hurt like oil spills
and old yeller
and oral quizzes

you hurt like parkinson's
and parties
and panic

you hurt like queens
and questions
and quantum physics

you hurt like rogaine
and roses
and rope burn

you hurt like solar power
and stomach aches
and ***

you hurt like teeth cleanings
and tar
and tobacco

you hurt like ulcers
and underwear
and unrequited love

you hurt like viruses
and venus fly traps
and vapor rub

you hurt like warning signs
and weight gain
and war

you hurt like x-rays
and x marks the spot
and xoxo

you hurt like your mom
and your dad
and you

you hurt like zig zags
and zero
and zip ties

*(a.m.c.)