Remembering my **** smelling like saliva
(You caved)

Exploration, cave-diving
(And dealing with the liquid)

Moans, Groans, and don't-let-me-go-homes
(Grab at something)

Once, twice, three times priority
(And vulgarity strikes at the heel of the prim and proper)

Your face is one I'll remember
(Travel with me, and let's *** in different cities)

I am seething regret
I am the walls of the terrace which you broke down

Filibuster my longwinded-ness
And break the backs because of your freedoms

I am seething regret
We call it freedom of the body
I call it ******, and **** it, I will not be silenced

I am sick and ******* tired of children dying
I am sick and tired of mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers crying.
We are so selfish, that we refuse life, because we believe our bodies have that right.

I am a man, yes, that is true.
I cannot speak from a woman's point of view.
But I guaran-*******-tee you
That my viewpoint would not change
If my genitals sank in rather than pushed out

I could spit tacks
And I could break backs
Watch me seethe and writhe

I don't want to hear your point of view,
I want to hear the sound of silence
Because no more children would be dying
For freedom

In the burning right hand of the bald city,
denizens frame calories and count instagram blessings
while beacons of hope refund inspiration in USADA *** cups.

Abyssinian maids wail over yesterday lovers
who wore Ginsberg’s skirt with less  pizzazz
and watched bedbugs **** blood off knee caps
wondering, what if Jesus Christ drove a Nissan?

As bullets of paragraphs fall Vietnamese pesticides on my head,
The dusts off my breath sing homilies
With letters of broken leather whiskey,
For even in the most dishonest jest,
clandestine toothbrushes are overrated
and every first false lie is the only truth.

This use to be a day of great pride
This use to be a day of celebration
This use to be a day of strength
Now it is a day of reflection
Now it is a day of great guilt
Now it is a day of regrets
Regrets for our arrogance
Regrets for our weakness
Regrets for letting down our fathers

I wish I was blind
To leave the superficial behind,
Take a breath from drowning
In the insignificance of my surroundings.

Beauty is the illusion that escapes the surface of me,
I can never find it in the reflection I see.
It has been defined in straight lines
And by the passage of time.

You see that magazine girl?
It makes my head swirl,
Popping off the page
SHE owns the stage.

I once vied for so-called perfection,
Clawing at my face and body
Ripping apart, section by section.

Epiphany struck me to no longer chase it
For it is a mirage that disappears the closer you get.
I peer through transparent skin,
Searching for what lies within.

I desire to find something more,
To learn to shut out the ramblings of a shallow world.

Dear poets,

I am leaving for bootcamp in three days.
I will come back as a sailor and I will still come back as a writer.

I wanted to say that I have adored every minute I have ever spent on this website.
So many words.
So many souls...

I want whoever reads this to remember something while I am gone.
You're beautiful.
You're loved.
And you're ******* awesome.

I will have someone post the address where I am and if anyone hear would like to send me something, it would be appreciated.

Stay you.

I remember that time,
You know,
That time when we were side by side
We'd done it many times together
Clothes on
But this was different
We were vulnerable
We were quiet
And we were flesh

And now, I'm sitting here
In a jumble of emotion
Replaying everything
I am an absolute ****-***

I've eaten
I've slept
I don't know what the hell's wrong here

I miss you
And yet I'm so angry
I'm failing
And I need a crutch terribly
I'm looking for anyone to lean on

And right now, I'm faking being ok.
And I'll keep doing it
Because, in reality, I could be a total ****
And this is me unraveling
Everything that's causing me the least bit of stress
Watch me burst at the seams
Scarecrow with mental issues

I am beyond ****** up, and you're still around?
Why is this happening, and why are you here?
More than that, why am I writing this
Sad sack of ******* that is called a poem?

Poetry is beautiful
Poetry is poignant
I'm being annoying
I'm being childish
I'm being immature
I'm being ridiculous

And God, God why are you so near?
But you feel so distant...
And I feel like I have all of hell's respite on
my back
And there's nothing
******* nothing that's doing a **** thing for me right now

Not liqour
Not love
Not happiness
Not Joy

I spout off at the mouth
And people think I'm more ****** up than I feel
That situations are worse than they really are
I need to work at this communication thing,
Or maybe I'm as ****** up as people think
Or worse...
Maybe I'm completely normal