I told her
You don’t want any part of this
I’m a promise broken on the cracked surface
of loose lips going down with sinking ships
but I’m the rat fleeing the wreckage
to wash up on your shore
carrying the plague of free thought
and loud voices
she said
you don’t know what I want
and you don’t know what I need
and she was right
but she didn’t need to be my muse
all the others I’ve thrown empty and lifeless
in a ditch on the side of the road
which connects my **** to my gut to my heart to my brain
called the I-90 soul
and she says
yeah you go go ahead and pour another
poor ******* you
so down on yourself
because self-loathing
and low self-esteem
are in
and your calculated mask of apathy
is only to draw the people closer
So I said to her
I’m the spider in the web?
and she said
no you’re the abandoned dog
scavenging the streets
growling at strangers
when all you really want is a nice home and a good petting
Most people wouldn’t advise mistaking dogs for wolves
and she said I’m not the one who’s mistaken
listen to me woman
you might think that on the surface it’s all swagger, ego, and witty cynicism
but on nights spent lonesome
I waltz with my madness beneath the chandelier of the killing moon
I smoke and drink to quiet my mind
because no matter how prolific of a writer I am on a given day
I lose more words than I catch
and it drives me to dark corners of my mind
where razor blades and pills sound appealing
and let’s not get started on the selfishness,
she said who isn’t selfish
and I said you will always come second to the words
the only thing I know how to love
because I know how much I hate them at times
know how much I wish they’d stop
my head is full of drunk six year olds careening bumper cars into my skull
and they never go away
they just grow more quiet
and I go through periods of isolation
where any other human presence is just an obstacle of my test
my quest is never ending
just like the great human tragedy
So you don’t want me?
I do, and I want you to want me
but I need you to know
that you shouldn’t
but I’m selfish
I’m hungry for validation
and I can’t lie
the way you look in that outfit
looks like my next best poem
so sure,
be mine,
but remember that I warned you
the thing is about writers
we are as passionate as they come
but you won’t find a more fickle bunch