because green leaves
and restoration sunshine
bore the hell out of me.

because love for me
has never been forever,
just a face i show for a scene.

because spring and winter
for me never exist,
i seem to live in the months inbetween.

because at the surface
my subject matter deals
with nothing past my *** drive.

because every word i use
is a staple of every
third graders' vocabulary

because this poem doesn't rhyme.

because i write stark reality
instead of romantic
imagination.

because they aren't me.
every poet may be their biggest critic,
but they're also their biggest fan.