Angry Pen, Angry Pen, oh how I hate you Angry Pen
I wish you'd do some changing
Cause you're the only one demonstrating sin
You make me angry, Angry Pen
I know the writing can't begin
If you're too angry, angry, angry, angry
You're a raging pen
And sometimes, I just wish you'd disappear
Don't get me wrong when you're happy, I love to have you near
And when you're mad, well
It's a sad thought, cause it's never been this bad
But when you're mad I trail off like the tail of the rat
And it only gets worse
Sometimes I just wish you were in the back of a hearse
I want to put you to death
Put you to rest
And I don't mean to curse
But you **** me off angry pen
This pain isn't something I deserve
But Angry Pen, I don't understand, why you have to be so cross
Were you created that way or were you just taught
and if you want to be that way, well, then I'd rather you not
Because of you angry pen people think I'm a slob
Angry Pen, Angry Pen
How you nauseate me pen
I don't mean to be hating but I think I feel a changing wind
You used to make me angry
I used to think you were demonstrating sin
But that seems to be fading
Because I wrote this poem with the so called 'Angry Pen'

-Slang

You came back with rage again
You stupid, freaking, angry pen
I used to think that we were friends
But that seems to be coming to an end
You're an angry pen
A crazy pen
I don't like you one bit
You're a lazy pen
A stupid pen
A freaking baby nudist pen
And I Hate You
I want to write but you're too busy distracting me
With you're incorrect grammar and all your pointless babbling
I can't believe this is happening
How can a pen be mad at me?
I feel like a disciple and this pen is just a Sadducee
And I'm *******, again
But this time it's going to stay
All I wanted to do was play
But this pen led me astray
And I hate it
Every little click makes me cringe
Every little word I write makes me want more revenge
But lets face it...
What exactly would I do a pen?
Instead of taking it a part and putting it back together again
Well, it depends...
But honestly pens don't really make good friends
You rusty pen
You musty pen
You mother freaking ugly pen!
I hate you pen!
I breake you pen!
I can't wait to look down from Heaven and see your face in hell.

I'm not a poet
I'm a self proclaimed genius with a pen
with thoughts running through my head
like gazelles in the plains of Africa
and I'm just waiting for a lion
to come swallow them up
and finally give me a good
idea
a good idea that rests on your
mouth like a Listerine patch
and comes out in a cool minty breath
a good idea that is so
easily shared amongst the masses
and is of the ability to make them
cry
laugh
smile
think
but how can I make them think
when I can't even think of a good
idea
besides, who is this 'them'
that I'm trying to please?
and how can I please 'them'?
with a notebook full of
scribbled out sentences
and torn out pages
both results of my rage
and yes, I write a lot about writers block
because writers block is so evident to me
and I see a whole lot of words
like butterflies in a field
and I'm without a net to catch them
and I just stand there staring
wishing I could piece them all together
but, if I write about writers block often
then is writers block something to write about
therefore I don't have writers block?
I don't know
I'm not a poet
I'm just a teenagers with writers block
just trying to catch butterflies

-Slang

As I pass through Art Museums
I see a ton of art that’s titled
‘Untitled’
and as I look at the art I make the realization as to why it’s
‘Untitled’
because I, like the artist, can’t decide what it resembles
so I decided that if I write a poem entitled
‘Untitled’
then it’d be counted as art
close enough?
I thought so.
But I like
‘Untitled’
artwork, it provides room for creativity
like this poem could be about Dragons
if you really imagine it
and if you replace all the times I say
‘Untitled’
with
‘Dragon’
then, boom, you have a nice medieval tale
with knights, dragons, the whole shebang
yes?
no?
oh well, it’s your imagination not mine
but if I were you
I’d make it about dragons
why?
cause.

my love for
her
is strictly
platonic,
because what else
could it be?

I sit on her
couch
and smile at every
single
word she says.
Her soft hand
touches
my knee, exposed
by my shorts,
as she laughs.
Out of nowhere she states,
“I like the
idea
of heaven, but
only
if there’s not a
hell.”
I realize then what
triggered
that statement.
we were talking about religion,
ironic to me is just that,
we were talking about religion
while I worship the
ground
she walks on.

My love for
her
is strictly
platonic,
I worship her,
but only as a
friend.

There she stood
silently
not one word was uttered
but no word was needed to
for she conveyed any beautiful and
lovely
word that could come out of her small pretty mouth.
What am I to do?
I stand there silently as well
watching her
waiting on her
waiting for her
to come over here and call me all those lovely words.
Not like I’m fishing for compliments or anything,
but for the lone fact that any lovely
word
that could come out her mouth towards me
would mean everything.
But I stand there
shy
still
quiet
afraid, for the fact that my loveliness could never
match
hers.
And so I cast my eyes upon the ground
where I belonged,
until I see the
prettiest
pair of feet I’ve ever seen
and as I look up I see eyes
so gorgeous
and she says to me “I love you.”
For she is a prize to be won
that I have already obtained.
I love you too.

i have this
bad habit
of thinking that
everyone's
depression is fake
other than mine.

the night i
first
found out he
might
be sick it rained.
i ate manhattan's favorite
rice-a-roni
and tried so
hard
to feel something
to be fair i was very
upset
but i didn't feel it.
all i got was a
headache from
forced
tears and a
sleepless
night.

three months earlier
near the time of my
birthday
i was having a terrible day
per usual,
when i received a birthday card
in the mail.
it was from my sister and on the
bottom of the card it said
from:
then their names followed
but in the biggest
font, right underneath the rest of their names
was his,
'Elijah,'
written by his own hand.
I
smiled
at the thought of him
smiling
while writing that.

around
this time
last year
I
was
sexually assaulted
and now America
just voted someone
in
who is saying
that that is
okay.

today on my drive home from work
i made
eye contact
with the girl who stopped next to me at a
traffic light
nothing was precisely
romantic
about the situation
but it was nice to share some sort of
space
with someone
for a split second before we both looked away
i kept glancing back at her
to see if she was looking in my general direction again
but i guess that split second was the only
space
she was willing to share
because she never looked back
and that's okay.

a few weeks back an
acquaintance
of mine, and i were playing
hacky sack
with one of those mini bibles that they hand out
we were making jokes about how we were those
atheists
your parents warned you about

today i saw a guy i used to go to church with
he seemed well off and happy
and i found myself being happy for him
given his circumstances in the past few years

i'm not quite sure what made me start hating religion
it makes so many people happy
it gives so many people purpose
and i used to love this purpose giving
faith driven
machine
but now i find myself giving god the *******
and giving god a little g
and putting god on my shelf, collecting dust
just like that bible i used to hold dear.

maybe it was depression that made me start hating religion
that's what i always blame it on.
depression
that's a dangerous thing.
i've just noticed that my belief in a higher deity began to
deteriorate
as soon as i started getting sadder
it was almost synonymous
then when i started getting
happier
my beliefs continued to become less and less.

in church they always talked about the story of job
the man who had so much faith
that through all of the **** god put him through
he still remained faithful.
i remember one point in my life i tried explaining that to one of my
atheist
friends.
he told me he didn't understand
and that it was really ****** of god to do something like that.
i tried to explain it
but i found myself at a loss for words
he now attends church regularly and we don't
speak
anymore.

perhaps it was the feeling of rebellion that made it fade
it's difficult being raised in a religious household
so that the one moment when i tasted freedom from the
choking
restraints
my parents put on me
i couldn't get enough of it.
cause let's face it
sin is fun
and i haven't been able to stop ever since.

i'm happy when people are happy with religion
i was much happier with religion
but i can't find myself to go back to it
no matter how hard i try the idea of god
or some form of higher being
just doesn't give me the same
feeling
that it used to.
i wish i could say it did.
sorry, god.

what does it feel like when you have a panic attack?*

it feels like i'm running
it feels like i'm running
downhill
and i just can't
stop
myself
and i feel my knees
lock up
and i feel my legs
go weak
but i just can't stop
i'm like a car
that has been put in neutral
no
i'm like a car
whose brakes have been cut
because i have no
choice
to stop
and
and
and i start apologizing
i'm sorry
i say
i'm sorry
but it's not working
i'm not stopping
and so i start getting angry
don't ******* go to sleep
don't ******* leave me
can't you see that i need you?
why would you ******* leave me
when i need you?
why don't you love me?
why don't you ******* love me?
and with every word
my pace gets faster
i pick up speed
and the hill gets taller
and steeper
until it is a
ninety degree angle
and i'm falling
i'm falling to my destruction
why don't you ******* love me?
i keep repeating
why don't you ******* love me?
until i hit the ground
with a boom
so big that it could
destroy
an entire city
and i breathe
and i look around at the destruction
and i keep breathing
why am i like this?
i ask myself
what's wrong with me?

often times
when i go into
restaurants
with my parents
that have little
candles
in the middle of the the table
i always
check
to see if its a real flame
in case i need to burn the place down
if my parents try to ask me about politics.

the last time
we
had *** i gave
you
rug burn on your back.

it stayed there for
some of the
months
to follow and remained
painful
as i broke your heart.

in the moment i felt
bad
about the red scabs that
protruded down the
outline of your
spine.

but looking back i'm
glad
i could give you a
reason
to think of me.

as horrid as it sounds i'm
glad
i could give you discomfort in your sleep,
just as months later
you
would do to me.

and though i wish you the
best
now, i hope that when you
wince as you sit
back in a seat you think of
me
and only
me.

when i was young
i wanted to be a
fire fighter
then i became afraid of fires

then when i was older
i wanted to be a
minister
then i became afraid of religion

then just yesterday
i wanted to
wake up
but then i became afraid of my alarm.

My God! My God! My most Loved God!
The same one that I sought
Doth strike me down
Upon this Holy ground
And lay my body here to rot

Fill my body with a fire!
Run smoke into my lungs!
I shall lay here
Confused by fear
Till I cough up all my blood

i wish i could say
i felt something when i saw you cry
but all i could do
was think about how ugly you looked