...after what feels like years of falling off the horse and being advised by well meaning friends that the best course of action is to get right back on, it has dawned on me that rather than falling off the horse I am indeed being thrown, as demonstrated by the invariable trampling I receive while trying to regain my feet. I have therefore decided to take this as life's way of telling me to stay the **** away from horses.

your poems make me jealous
because they breathe into me tales
i'll never be able to tell

not really

When you're a poet:

Your heart doesn't bleed blood, it bleeds ink
It bleeds your secrets
It bleeds your history
It sends your memories off for a long and dangerous ride

Your eyes warn the people who approach to step carefully,
the ground is often eroding beneath your feet
Tear droplets form metaphors that run from your cheeks onto the page

Sleep is secondary to your thoughts
The nights beg for attention and play loud music through the walls to keep you awake

Your feet are always tapping to the beat of a song you've never heard

Your lips are quiet, but you always have something to say

When you're a poet, you feel everything
EVERYTHING
you feel the world swallowing you whole and your limbs brushing softly against its esophagus
And you're just trying to pass the time until you're either digested or regurgitated

I am happy
When people like
My poems

When people
Comment on my poems
If there is a criticism
That's okay too

Such kind people here
What we write here is important

I send my good wishes
To the writers here

In an ideal world
I would invite you
To my living room

To share the warmth
Of the fire

And offer you a glass
Of warm tea

Or hot chocolate Ovaltine

I think
             the folks at Liquors.com
are wondering why
no one clicks on
“12 cocktails to drink
              before you die.”

Our souls have been sold for instant fame! Now you can be famous for no reason at all. Post your life online, for all of the world to see. Depravity has become the norm and piety has been cast aside. For thirty pieces of silver was once the price, now thirty seconds can gain you a million followers. As what cost have we sold our souls at what price have we forsaken any form of virtue. To open our homes and our lives to scrutiny once reserved for only the most infamous among us. Now for fame and self adulation, we will forget the golden rule, and teach ourselves and any who will follow how to be mean to others. Only to find out in the end that no life matters. For we have become, a empty and virtue-less world.