Why do you bother
telling me what to do with my life?
Like I will actually listen.

Because if there's one thing I've learned
In all this time
It's that this life is mine.
I can do with it what I wish

If only I had any idea...

My skin is feverish
I am delirious

I'm not sure where my fantasy world ends and the real one begins

I can't talk to anyone
They might find out at some point

That I'm not who I say I am

I'm not okay
Like they expect me to be.

I don't think I can live among them after the truth has been set free

After I'm exploited it won't be a relief.
It won't set me free

It will cage me in

It won't let me leave

Because once you're exposed, people will only see you.
There's no hiding anymore

In these streets gather grime and slime,
And an ideological undercurrent
That is by no means benign.
Indeed, this culture is rapacious:
Exploit, take, exploit, consume,
Endlessly, ever endlessly,
With no regards for when it all runs out.

This cancerous mindset
Is now mainstream.
It is default.
It is not only allowed,
But rewarded.
Selfishness and sociopathy
Are synonymous with success.
You are what you own,
And nothing else.
Your little words and little drawings,
With their little meanings
Mean little to anyone.
Pack up the books, the pencils, the paints,
Stow them in the attic,
And instead,
Slave away at something you merely tolerate.
That, my friends, is the American way.

By: Forrest Jorgensen ©

You feel
the need
to fill
the need
to feel.

You
Click your tongue
Purse your lips
Smile my way

I purse my lips
Look away
And smile at the wall

It's an awkward mating ritual
Inversely proportional to how it's supposed to go

But no matter
It's a ritual nevertheless
That's solely ours

We're too interesting for normalcy anyways

This weirdness suits us well

That is the letter your name starts with
It's also the letter of the word I use
to remind myself
That they can not know
They must never know
Because you are too old, for me
And I am too young for you
With your easy smile and delicate hands
Your terrible humor and your caring ways
Whenever I'm with you I forget about the numbers
I forget how you were alive for so many years
Before I was even born
But still, I want to wallow in your smile, I want to bathe in it and recieve your praise, forever
I want to bottle your awkward humor and carry it with me throughout the day
Loosening the lid only at the worst of times, when I really need it, because it's rare and I need it to last.
Why is it that whenever we're laughing I forget about the number?
There's too many numbers
Height, weight, number of friends, number of attempts, number of kids, number of divorces
You once asked me what forever looked like.
That to me is undefinable in so many ways, but can be seen in our future together.
The moments of happiness we'd share?
That is forever
But I'm not asking for a number
I'm not asking for years
The promise of time, that's another thing I'm more than willing to overlook
If I can look past that number and so many others.
Why can't everyone look past them for me too?