Hello Poetry; we meet again
my bored, unenthusiastic but sympathetic friend
Why is it you never seem to like what I do?
The rhymes, the rhythm structure, the ideas I write for you?

Or maybe, in my haste, maybe I've miscalculated
Maybe, it's actually me that feels discombobulated
I have had times when I've struggled with what I've written
I always die a thousands deaths, before I'm smitten

with how I might have dotted the i's, and crossed the t's
I'll hide behind furniture to be sure that no one sees
lest they lambast my catastrophic grasp on diction
With god's help I'm sure I'll conquer this terrible affliction

and actually construct a poem I'm happy with
Here are the laws, I'll live by, forthwith,

1. don't write about your pet hamster, no one cares
2. and you should probably steer clear of international affairs
3. remember no word in the English language rhymes with 'month'
4.
5. always know your subject, inside and out
6. Do weasels have noses, or do they have snouts.....?

...****, you can't even write out a set of rules
You; You have no friend in anyone that won't suffer fools
gladly, but sadly, I have another idea
another lacklustre shot at being sincere
I hate this vicious cycle,
hate every single bit
but yep,
I'll get my pencil,
grab some paper,
then just
sit

If I promise not to empty my lint trap,
will you promise to come back
and reintroduce yourself as the "boy who likes the leaves on your wall"
to the girl who is "lucky enough to have beautifully colored lint,
kind of like a rainbow"?

It's the closest I've ever been told,
"she's like a rainbow".

Sometimes when I come (home),
I want to make a found poem out of
all the memories I never had
/(have yet to create).

It's all those words that I wanted to apply,
like "free" and "full" and "release"
and "unencumbered ventriloquist" and
"owls".
Just for the sake of sinking my teeth
into someone else's dictionary, vocabulary
(early morning rituals.
Perhaps I can slink into someone else,
if I adopt their lexicon,
and prepare my coffee the same way).

What are you spewing into the atmosphere?
What are you defining,
bringing into breath based on your action and reaction?

I could feel my hands
(plucking, grasping, *******, tearing)
your letters and phonemes and characters and verbal intent.
They're still on my pillowcase, I just don't know if you want them back.
I left mine buried in your red hot chili peppers lights,
you can keep them.

We have so many different endings.

You've got to keep
your heart young.

So, we've got Venus.
This little babe of a planet,
always in the shadow of her big sister Earth
(she got to try everything first,
I guess that's why she has her remnants
drifter all over. Some people get *****,
she got Earthlings.)
But we all know Venus was the hotter of the two.
A little more dense, sure,
but babe had curves.

She had her spotlight, though.
12 hours of high fashion runway.