TO THE GUY IN THE BACK OF THE ROOM COMPLAINING
ABOUT LISTENING TO ANOTHER **** POEM

When people ask me why
It took years of writing poems
to write this poem
the "**** poem"
I will tell them all about you.

How you watch this stage
the same way you watch CSI,

you already know what's coming next,
it's just another mangled body,
I am just another hit and run,
so you take this time to get another drink,

i'll tell them
how every story sounds the same
when you stop listening,

i'll tell them how nice it must be
to be able to walk away, and
i'll tell them
how there's a voice in the back of my head
that sounds an awful lot like yours saying,

this is just another **** poem

just another little-girl-lost poem.
just another do-not-touch-me-until-i-ask you-to touch me poem.

just another seven-years-old,
sleeping with a Thinkerbell wand on my nightstand
and a kitchen knife underneath my pillow
because i swore the next time he came in my bedroom uninvited
he would come out bleeding
poem;
and I get it.

I know that you are tired of hearing **** poems.
I am tired of hearing **** poems,
the same way soldiers are tired of hearing they own guns go off,
believe me,
we all wish the war was over,
you are staring out at a world on fire
complaining about how ugly you think the ashes are,

The poems are not the problem...