Do you see the way she looks at me
As she asks what I'd like to eat
I'm not sure of what to say to her
But was that just a wink?

I'm not the only one standing here
That m'lady wines and dines
Yet another school year
In the Cafeteria line

You know she had me with the hair net
Matching the color of her eyes
The **** way she slops spaghetti
On the plate next to my fries

There's really not a lot
A young school boy can do
As I dream about her from breakfast to lunch
In one continuous drool

She's the Cafeteria lady
Not to keen on her collard greens
But she does serve up a mess of mean
Nachos and young school boy dreams

We look at storm clouds through the window side by side
And all you can see is storm clouds
I see metaphors in everything
But you really don’t
It’s just finished raining and the sky is a dim murky gray
I point out the beautiful raindrops on the window pane, my favorite sight
All you say is: Yeah, so?
I see beauty in the littlest things
But you really don’t
You have never complimented me on anything other than my looks
You only ever tell me I’m pretty when I have make up on
You barely look at me in the mornings
When I wake up with a natural unpainted face
Sipping my tea and reading
You’ve never read a single one of my poems
And whenever I cry about anything no matter how serious
You make an excuse to leave
You order me a salad every time we go out to eat
Without even asking me first
You never let me drive your car
But you toss your stoner buddies the keys every other day
You use the words music and noise interchangeably
You call me overdramatic a couple too many times
And it is getting old
Not funny anymore
Well, actually it never really was
And yesterday I bought a pretty rose for our apartment’s kitchen table
After you finally came home from work
You stripped off the thorns
The ones I left on purposefully
Then right after
You whispered a very hollow and cold: I love you
You kissed me with my hand in yours
Ran your thumb along the skin on my knuckles
And told me my skin was too rough and dry
One of my many imperfections that I am most sensitive about
You told me to go put on cream before you held my hand again
Is that what you are doing to me?
Stripping off my thorns?
So that, Derek
Is why your things are all packed up and left outside our door
Because unmetaphorical you
Who never REALLY got me
Who never REALLY liked me
Who CERTAINLY never loved me
Couldn’t handle my emotions
And tried to change me to fit
Your perfect little image of me in your mind
Calculating, icy, stone frozen rocky you
That I thought was so wonderful for the longest time
Are getting kicked out of MY apartment today
There is supposed to be a thunderstorm tonight
So I can play a little of my “noise”
While I watch storm clouds
And see more than what they are literally,
But what they mean symbolically
Not wear make up without feeling too ugly for you
Look at beautiful raindrops on the window
Drinking tea and reading
NOT eating salad
Writing poetry that you won’t refuse to read
Because you won’t even get the chance to say no
Since I won’t be inviting you to read it
Be as thorny and overdramatic as I feel like
Cry if I want, without feeling like I’m being a burden to you
Making you uncomfortable
Make my world of metaphors that I live in
And buy a new rose
And KEEP the thorns

Repost if you are PROUD of your thorns

I like to think
I'm too big
to be broken,
I'm so high
above
all of that
- but you're the one
who brings me
back to Earth
and says
that I'm only
five foot
tall.

on the back numerous hole
quite a few too on the chest
still it clings to my soul
I think it fits me best.

says my flummoxed wife
you’re a miser hopeless
holding on a rag for life
bringing yourself disgrace.

I feign not to hear and shrug
clutching it more to my heart
feeling warm cosy in its hug
my friend the many years’ shirt.

on it lie rivers of sweat
joy and sorrow’s tear stains
time’s all burden of weight
gloomy and dark hours’ pains.

a mere cloth and I find it so hard
to throw it and part our ways
wonder how humans discard
relations grown over years.

I want to softly whisper
incomplete poems
on your collar bones
that don't rhyme with anything
but your heavy breathing.

I want to bury my face
in the curves of your neck
because you smell like the winter clouds
and I've been gazing at the sky
since you left.

I'm not afraid to say that I am not afraid,
but I think we're lost and it's unsettling.
And I'm not afraid to say I love you to my friends,
and that we like drugs.

If I don't find a perfect job and buy a perfect house
will I meet the standards?

We'll  I'm not afraid of being poor and hungry.
I'm afraid of being Fake, and filled with Hate.
And I'm not afraid to say I'm sick of ***
and the way it makes me think.

Because the worst war is in my head
And the first step would be keeping to myself
But the worst part is in my bed.
when I get anxious I can't sleep..
So can we go
and waste some time

I'm not afraid of being put down
I like the way I live and the way I dress.
And I'm not ashamed
I spent those checks on gas and whiskey
and cigarettes.

If don't purchase trendy clothes and I don't bother lifting
Am I still a man?

Well, I'm not afraid to say that superficial people make me
sick.
I want no part of it.
And I'm not apposed to hearing
things you have to say
but I get mad.

Because the worst war is in my head

I'm not afraid to say that I am not afraid
but I'm ******* Scared.
Because all our time is spent with technologies instead of Love,
and Loving life.
I'm not afraid to help you see, but I wouldn't Know.
Because if I say we're slaves to phones and Facebook,
I know that you'll go home,
and you'll waste your time on it.