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jon-tobiasPoems
I barely went to school And was baptized underneath a rain gutter But I promise Despite my upbringing I will die a poet Birds never studied music Nature never rough drafted its deformations Including me I was born perfectly broken With heart in throat And head in clouds And head in **** And head Head everywhere else but center Hands anywhere but to myself I dare you to stop pumping fuel Into my mouth’s motor Dare you to make fun of me For my special education For my short bus ****** My education was special I learned to walk on two feet When I should have had four And I learned How to stop myself from crying When I found out not everyone is going to love me I’ve learned the language Of your laughter And can translate your sighs To mean anything Right now they are the exhalation of ghosts You no longer wish to hold on to Let them go Let go of your ghosts And don’t settle for anything less Than the silence of your soul As it leaves you Take this poem with you when you do It is a love note Sending Saint Peter home All are welcome here Especially you I mean Nobody’s perfect Especially poets I’m not perfect Which is perfect Because that means I can die A poet
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Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 5:00 AM UTC
I Can Die A Poet
I barely went to school And was baptized underneath a rain gutter But I promise Despite my upbringing I will die a poet Birds never studied music Nature never rough drafted its deformations Including me I was born perfectly broken With heart in throat And head in clouds And head in **** And head Head everywhere else but center Hands anywhere but to myself I dare you to stop pumping fuel Into my mouth’s motor Dare you to make fun of me For my special education For my short bus ****** My education was special I learned to walk on two feet When I should have had four And I learned How to stop myself from crying When I found out not everyone is going to love me I’ve learned the language Of your laughter And can translate your sighs To mean anything Right now they are the exhalation of ghosts You no longer wish to hold on to Let them go Let go of your ghosts And don’t settle for anything less Than the silence of your soul As it leaves you Take this poem with you when you do It is a love note Sending Saint Peter home All are welcome here Especially you I mean Nobody’s perfect Especially poets I’m not perfect Which is perfect Because that means I can die A poet
jon-tobias
Written by
jon-tobias
American
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 5:00 AM UTC
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