It is a peaceful feeling to be able to just to listen
To the female without wanting to get into her pants
Don't get me wrong the thought crossed my mind
But I didn't act on it by being preverted by feeling her up
It was a beautiful moment

It passed midnight when i took my medicine
Life has been treating me bad lately
I reached for my phone on the right side of my pillow
Blood was racing inside my cells,
no wonder i'm over anxious all the time
I swiped unlock,
went through my phone storage
In minutes i'm about to puke,
the world was sickening me out

I stopped upon this picture
of the guy who owns 4 piercings on his left ear
The helix one is my favorite
I giggled to the screen
Feeling familiar with the warmth he got on that curvy lips
The tension was chilled a bit—
as i entered my own little world
I felt my brain slowly turned into confetties

It passed midnight when i took my medicine
As every cells on my body
Praised him our favorite love song—
thanked him
For being the most effective way of healing

Weren't you told,
Some time ago,
A picture's worth a thousand words.
Well I can show with a click or two,
A thousand pics for each word you choose.

cauliflower balloons inflate from chemically altered exhaust.
upon deflation, they release clarification; they retain alterations.
cooked from breathing deep, bruised of industrial abuse,
cauliflower balloons are served to us with scents of rancid meat.

we are not unfamiliar to the machines of degradation.
appreciation is passed at the table alongside salt and gravy.
we are our makers and creators, not in need of names or forms.
we are not unfamiliar to ourselves but our ignorance blinds our lungs.

inflators of the inflated fill our plates to serve themselves,
forgetting somehow, who it is that will somehow serve their will.
deflators remain the servants, eventually becoming the served
remember to hold your breath because it is all you have.

Gray, dark asphalt,
Leading somewhere else,
Away.
From here, this place,
Leaving me,
Astray.
Darker, grayer, asphalt,
Under my feet,
Dumb.
I'm standing in shadow,
Hearing the bit of no,
Drum.

to write like me
you must first review my routine
lift weights
take boxing lessons
drink beer in bars
laugh loudly in the street
sing karaoke every week
date women from different backgrounds
kiss like you mean it
and make love that soaks the sheets
take random trains
to far off places
work jobs until you hate them
and quit as you slowly go mad
then you will be half the poet I am
because I am still only half the poet
I know I can be
it's a challenge to balance
to juggle this routine
I am trapped between two loves
my love for life
and my love to write
between living life
and writing about it
between being alive
and writing about it
to me writing and living go hand in hand
but they cannot always co-exist
when you burn your light to the brink
as I do
i must find the line
but the line is hard to find
because there are only so many hours in a day
and life swoops us by like an owl
with a mouse in its mouth
leaving us with only a brief window
in which to carve a lasting legacy
beware this life style isn't for everyone
only the chosen few can pull it off
this artful existence
this vagabond life
a tiresome gift
from mischievious gods
who see themselves in us
but never mind kid
you are probably a better poet than me anyway

I wear my heart on my sleeve with a jacket over it.
It's hard to be in sleeves when it's cold out, but even harder when it's not.

Hang up the coat, and someone else is waiting to give you theirs.

Because no one cares how many goosebumps you have on your arms, they'll tell you if you're cold to just wear a jacket.

But I'm cold with my jacket.