You were the problem
The black sheep
From your hood
Blame no one else
But seek repentance
With your heart.

You stabbed your self
After backbitting the
Whole eternity
you robbed yourself
Of all you had
And planted seeds
Of a melting future
one you have sought
There after and now
Chasing the air around you

Spill your words wisely
For you set a fire
On your own coat
and thus created a
Distance of darkness
Dancing on  sharp
Stripes of a panga
and yet expecting
a safe and happy stay

The time she takes collecting the material
Organises her thoughts
On how it should appear,
It's her fulltime job
Once she's up very early
And before she sets
Foot in bed.
She grows it to her position
Of perfection,
To Endeavour it's the best
Amongest all of a kind,
To sacrifice all and see it shine
Even in mysterious times
To all times she stands to defend
her own creation or even opt for
Change in design.

When age suppresses
Her control to it
She keeps the insist
Of weaving it
Never is she tired of
Her duties and never
Does she plan to retire.

Just gonna run for hours once the sun comes up
Sleep and rinse repeat until I reach defeat
Maybe I'll be alright, maybe I won't
Maybe I'll take those silly meds to keep them chemicals in check
Maybe I won't!
I don't give a
Hmm maybe I do Maybe I don't
Money, money makes the world go round round round
And I just don't got enough
They got me got me got me
Right where they want me
I don't give a
Hmm maybe I do maybe I don't
I'll be alright
Alright as a poor ***** can be In this ****** economy
With people you can't trust
Who leave you in the dust!
98% to be exact
Statistically speaking
They are waiting on your back breaking
So they can be there and care for you in your despair.
I don't give a
Hmm maybe I do.maybe I don't.
Nobody has triggered my sense of utter disgrace in this human race
Well now that's a lie
Because its all of you
I don't give a.

Oh,
how conflicted is the soul
of a poet,
for we yearn for nothing more
than to share the deepest depths,
our nakedness and rawness in
the beautifully
tragic love we feel,
but how much do we
try to individualize
that that lies inside, to make ourselves
stand out, for we
experience the world in sensory means
beyond the normal comprehension
of those around us;
how badly we wish for our
word choice and alliteration
to breathe life into the persons
who never hopefully
comprehend our creativity,
for we are arrogant in our
supernatural secret-keeping,
in our mind games and
manipulation.
Oh, how I bless my soul,
a poet lost
deep in the depths of my own
emotion,
of my never-waivering devotion,
to being the most uniquely recognized
and desperately bittersweet
wide-eyed doe
that ever did aggressively
permit the world
to melt so fervently into a home
within her.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

don't feel sorry for me.
I am a competent,
satisfied human being.

be sorry for the others
who
fidget
complain

who
constantly
rearrange their
lives
like
furniture.

juggling mates
and
attitudes

their
confusion is
constant

and it will
touch
whoever they
deal with.

beware of them:
one of their
key words is
"love."

and beware those who
only take
instructions from their
God

for they have
failed completely to live their own
lives.

don't feel sorry for me
because I am alone

for even
at the most terrible
moments
humor
is my
companion.

I am a dog walking
backwards

I am a broken
banjo

I am a telephone wire
strung up in
Toledo, Ohio

I am a man
eating a meal
this night
in the month of
September.

put your sympathy
aside.
they say
water held up
Christ:
to come
through
you better be
nearly as
lucky.

I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.

it was the first time I'd
realized
that.