I love the way you laugh.
It sounds like a dog throwing up.

I want to run my hands through your hair.
I bet it's as soft as a chinchilla's fur.

I love your height.
How it makes you look like you're the genetic product of Nick Jonas and a giraffe.

I love your eyes.
You're so full of ****, that even your eyes are brown.

My love for you was like a ****.
I did something on an empty stomach,
And what resulted had no substance.
(Also: love stinks.)

If Little Debbie was real, I'd never be sad.
Her very presence could rid this world of all things bad.
Her perfect cakes drive away responsibility
By forcing me to focus on my bowel irritability.

If Little Debbie was real, I'd never feel lonely.
I think her stuff makes any place more homely.
With every bite I take, I gain a pound
But that's alright because no one's around

To see me for the lonely fat girl that I am
Who often mixes cucumbers with bananas and jam
Surely it's not just me who awakes and thinks
"Forget the eagle! Little Debbie is our national link."

For I believe there is nothing more patriotic
Than relying on something that's abiotic.

Yes, hello, doctor, it's been five days  
But I've found that my symptoms haven't gone away.
Lately I've been distracted, and my heart's been racing
Sometimes I think of rings with a heart engraving.

When did this start? When I saw him walk by.
I was heading to my bus, and he waved goodbye.
Such a simple gesture shouldn't cause butterflies---
Please, please, doctor, can you give me advice?

What do you mean, I've fallen in love?
That's a disease I've never heard of.

Yesterday he asked permission to kiss her.
"When pigs fly!" she said, with a laugh and a scoff.
Today he marched in holding a pig with wings
Duct-taped on (so they wouldn't fall off).

He tossed it in the air, I swear it did fly
I know because I saw him kiss her goodbye.

I did not **** that hour.
The hour--- killed--- me.
Yes! I died in that hour.
Dead of terminal ennui.

My soul left my body
And transcended into heaven
On a scale of one to ten
It was totally eleven.

I was almost able to ask
Jesus all my queries
But then the Earth pulled me back
And here I sit, still weary.

I don't understand all this poetry ****.
The monotony of similes, metaphors,
rhymes, and metonymy.
All this "interpretation" from imagination.
Because you know what?
Sometimes a man ******* in the woods
Is just a man ******* in the woods.

You can make any poem
Sound deep and
meaningful
by putting random
spaces
between
lines.

Like
For example
My ******* is
really itchy
today.

The word 'boyfriend' is so misleading.
"A boy who's a friend"--- that's a misreading
But if that's the meaning, then I must be keeping
A whole host of them (at least for the time-being).

All this time, I've been dating
Boys from Bio, English, Math, and Painting.
Boys I've met while debating
If chocolate or vanilla is better tasting.

Everyone has a boyfriend, even boys who are straight.
What do you call a captain who's got a first mate?
But all these boys have an expiration date.
All except one---
That's called your soulmate.

Don't even bother squatting above the seat.
In the water lives ***** that can jump ten feet.

Deep in the desert where no one can see
Is a laboratory named "Area 143."
Like Area 51, it runs government tests
But not about aliens (though that's a good guess).

These facilities created, over the years,
A watch that would stop when your soulmate was near.
From your moment of birth, it would start to count down
To the exact moment when your soulmate was found.

For a while it worked, and all was well.
But a rise in divorce rang the warning bell.
For the watch could not predict that you'd love your mate,
Just someone that you could potentially date.

The CEO of Area 143
Tore his beard out and yelled, "This cannot be!"
He recalled all the watches and then packed them away
To a secret location, where they hide to this day.

But he did not know that other watchmakers
Had stolen the plans for these botched "soul-maters"
Today these copies are still for sale
Some think they do work, from school to jail.

So if you ever meet someone and you see your watch stop
You might have purchased one of these matchmaking flops.

My lips are virgins.
Yes! It's true!
In fact, I'm willing to bet
That yours are, too.

I can look at someone---
Yes, just look---
And tell if they're kiss-virgins,
Trust me, it's textbook.

See that boy?
He's had his first kiss.
Just look at his lips,
It's hard to miss.

They're pink and confident,
Like a blushing bride.
I bet his kiss margin
Is pretty **** wide.

Look at my lips.
Then look at his.
Yours could match his
If you'd give me a kiss.

I hate how you never look at me
How your eyes always pass me by
I hate if when you look at her,
And how it makes me cry.

I hate the fact you do math in pen
Because you're never wrong.
I hate the way you smile at me,
Like you're stringing me along.

I hate how blue your eyes can get
When you laugh or when you smile.
I hate the fact for you, I'd run
A hundred thousand miles.

I hate, I hate, I hate
Your entire ******* being.
So why is it, why is it,
you are everything I am seeing?

I think boys are all the same.
They'll forget your phone number, face, and name
They'll forget your anniversary, birthday, dates, and trips
They'll forget you're actually a size 7 at the hip.

But some boys are different and sweet and kind
Instead of their *****, they think with their mind
They'll make you feel special and cherished and loved and cared for
The kind of love you thought you didn't have the fare for.

But they're the most dangerous--- stay away from these boys!
They'll treat your still heart like a broken, used toy.
And after this boy gets what he wants,
He won't call or text for the next thousand months.

Her laugh was ugly, like a shaven baboon's.
You could hear her cackling all the way to the moon.
She tried to change her laugh into something more pretty,
But found that she couldn't.
What a pity.

I think it's really pathetic that you want to change.

I think it's really pathetic that you're willing to become like everyone else when you've seemed to be happy with you for the past 15 years.

I think it's really pathetic that you dye your hair ten different colors just to get noticed, and that you feel the need to wear 2 different kinds of foundation just to look "average."

I think it's really pathetic that you think you're pathetic.

Not hopelessly in love.

Uselessly.

Pants are like bras for legs.
Constricting and worn only because society says we must.

The red waterfall
Gushes over jagged rocks
No warning or signs

The waterfall pains
The gods that reside by it
And they start to crave

Sweeter sacrifice.
Meat! They request human meat
And their moods will change.

For there is nothing
More chaotic than a girl
Bleeding out her ***.

There was no splashback
When I poo'd today
And just like that
My sadness went away.

trying to move on from you
is like seasickness.

off balance,
the whole world spinning under my feet  
only stopping once i set foot on land
and see you
for even the briefest
of seconds.