my poetry is not art anymore
it isn't expression
it isn't even honest
it's filtered and edited
so as not to be disturbing
or concerning
to any number of people
often all that is left of me then
is anger

but in truth
in a final attempt
at honesty in my art
I am lonely.
and confused and stupid and tired and heartbroken and homesick
and so many other human things

to be disgustingly honest
and simple minded
in the least amount of words
I love you