When did poetry become a spectacle
no longer something personal and beautiful
but something to prove to the society
that pushed you out of the inner rings
i know they ****
but don't do this for them
poetry is meant for you
to have fun with
to expel all that creative energy
so ***** em
i write for you and me

tissue box ran out an hour ago
using toilet paper to
wipe my nose
i know i seem to be so distant but

im just another **** up
im gonna be their laughing when you get stuck
even though ive been there before
i still howl
whats with you
cant you afford
to make it out
its so much better after the glass has left you
when you leave back all the bottles of lost love

Trying to establish a style
i cant let myself run wild
refine your lines
and maybe with time
you'll see yourself
trapped and immortalized
within the paintings
that you drew
that other people where drawn to.

A compulsion to navigate the unmarked range of my mind
a feeling compelling me to relive the stress
by taking what i know
from the sensory and the time
and create a story image or phrase
something appealing
and say it to the lot
bring them in to see
how hot my head turned out to be.

Lack of a name
doesnt make it worse than the pros
and their tame nature
cant see past form, or paper
technical and refined
your art has such fine lines
artistic living in my wild unrefined mind

Willow beads
late night deeds
done onto you
no one else will bother you
while you sleep
all by yourself

Im catching the air in my head
cutting it with a sword housed in my dome
******* with the perceptive properties
of sight,
sound,
ecetera.