Typically I'm not someone to be written about
I'm not outstanding in the emotional department.

All I need
I don't need much
Is a gently warm body
And peace of mind

We need to experience more and write less.
Longing hearts lead to broken spirit,
Which ultimately means you'll never get laid.

What does it mean to be fake?
To cake on the make-
up
and
down
our eyes nod
judging simply
but step back
Us girls tearing off the hair that should just stay there
lathering up our bodies in vanilla bean lotion
to smell...well, fake.
Deception, Man-ipulation
It's not psychotic, just how we survive
When men stand like brick walls
Hiding insecurities
Fake
so when you picture fake
see beyond the
fake nails
fake hair
fake eyelashes
fake feelings
it's the way we cough out lies pretending to be sick
the food we consume
the cars we value more than her, him, who? Anybody
just somebody say what you are thinking already!
The phones we use to walk through photos of moments
it's all fake
and then you must take the time to ask yourself,
What is real?
The flap of a monarch butterflies wings
the breeze in winter nights
making noses red
and toes numb
the cracks in your fingers
and the creases forming on your face
picture this.

Black cotton pants
Mirrored by a black sweater
Tight at the cuffs, but soft everywhere else.

These are the beginnings of a man
Gentle in his own way
Feels and falls often
On the words of others
A melancholic poet

He goes into long tangents on his head,
One looping into another like the hair on his head
Capable of enjoying good wine, but not the
Good company of his friends.
All he wants is a quiet night alone.

There may be no end
To the verses he writes:
Literary, yet with a tinge of
Harsh bite
Criticizing the commodities encountered in life
He dabbles in drama, debates, and critiques
This poem is ending
But his words will live on.

I hear breathing
and a faint persistent clicking,
probably his mouse.

pondering my own mood,
I sulk.