I started writing poems years ago.
Someone said i even missed my calling,
which is kinda flattering but may also have meant i was pretty lame at my real job.
I get distracted by the Likes
Verse and vice,
Prose and price,
On the site.
Statistics and counting,
not lofty fodder for wit and imagination and love and bleeding.
But, I get distracted by the likes,
And I want them.
Natalie said they don't count twice.
Ooh, once I was even trending.  But I suspect that's a ploy to bait me.
Still, a time in the sun, even if just a coding device.
No real poet would find that proper.
Perhaps I'm just not a poet, or even poetic.
I suspect there's other evidence to indict me.
Please don't be too harsh, or worse, click away.
I want to write a verse that strikes a chord,
But I get stuck on just which ones to play.
Because I'm looking for the lightening bolt to turn yellow.
I have IRBD envy.  But not of verse but of what, or who follows.
For Likes.
I know thats lame and not what a real poet would do.
A poet of noble and lofty thoughts, of obtuse meaning and lyric wordsmithing.
With a cult-like following and others just trying to figure out what it means,
But they know the poets name, and that counts for something.
I'm impure and unworthy, or perhaps not talented
A poetic imposter, a fraud.
I've got the likes to prove that anyway,
If, that's what they prove.

It's knocking.
Inviting me to come in.
Not demanding.  That won't happen till later.
Right now, we're all on best behavior.
It's calling me,
The satin, silk, and cashmere of well chosen words.
Painting a picture of possibility and promise.
Implausible pay, promotion and perks
Pursuing the path, pursuant to plan.
It's inviting me in,
And reminding me that this was my idea.
But to what, I am not as certain as I was.
Or perhaps I'm just a little afraid.
Are those tingles excitement or premonition?
Warning or inhibition?
It is calling me.
It 's calling me forward, or so it says.
I think it's forward; hard to tell direction some times,  
amidst a fog or bright lights.
But I hear voices behind me too.  
Calling me back, whispers of doubt, hints of inadequacy.
That's weird, but there's cheering too.
Oh, the blessings of being loved!
It sounds familiar.  Those voices have been quiet for some time.
Are they mine?
I think it's about time both choruses were heard again.
It's knocking.  I'm walking.
Headed for the door.

Paper cut.                            On a dry cracked finger
Bit my lip.                            That same spot over again
Jammed my toe.                 In the dark on the old iron chest
A boiling sip.                      Skin on the roof of my mouth peels away
Slammed my finger           The tailgate of my truck
Hit my head.                       On the corner of the open cabinet door
Sprained my ankle.            With a crunch that says "ER"
Bruised and bled.               inside the car on its back in the middle of nowhere
Shiver out loud.                  So cold, knowing its hours to dawn
Burned my back.                Bright red and translucent blisters
Tingling spine.                    In the dark, certain evil is there
Cough and hack.                 Needles stuck in my lungs
Curled in a ball.                   Because nothing matters
Long thin abrasions            Cowering  below his anger
Crackling cartilage              A powerful fist to my nose
Fevered equations.              Crazy dreams to sort out nonsense
Human condition,
Follows no law.
In everyday living,
Life can be raw.

But it's brutal when someone you trust is the perpetrator
.

Death, at arms length
Made to fit in my hand so sweetly
The black steel grip
feels like I mean something
The slave for my anger
A powerful blame
A home for my victimhood
An outlet for my pain
at muzzle velocity
I don't even have to touch them
I can simply squeeze - just lightly
To **** them
All of them
Even the ones I don't know
They're collateral damage of my hatred
My anger is big enough for anyone to die for
Even myself
And this piece, will be my release
At 30 lives in a clip, I'll release so much
It will be over so fast. BAM!
They won't even know what hit them.
Neither will I

Remorse can rectify the rose
From all it's devilish deeds
fore it has thrown a knife to those
who thrive in subtlety

For us with no one to receive
the symbol we despise
a withered stem would sure portray
our intimate demise

belittled by the brittle vine
We'd join in brotherhood
to justify the humble pain
that no one understood

gun unslung
hanging by his side
swaying with his step

his step thorough
leaving sand behind
floating like particles of dust

dust now forgotten
as his step imprints
upon broken glass

glass shatters more
crumbling
like the cities of Israel
beneath the feet
of falsely declared gods

gods that now drive the mind
with intrepid pace
towards the unsuspecting

the unsuspecting victim
of such malice
that can only be embodied
by death

death
only defied by those
who can truly consider themselves
wholesome and true

and yet the truth struggles
to stop this relentless growth
of pride and self righteousness

and thus the marksman
raises the gun to his target

his breath steady
his heartbeat in his ears

a resonance that he despises
his imperfections are his enemy
And if not to be perfect then what else?

he pulls the trigger

Not everyone is in.

Not everyone is in
a position
to feel sorry
for their own souls.

I wanna write it tonight.
I wanna write it right now.
I wanna hide from the light,
out of sight right now.

I wanna cry
once I find
the line that fits
for you, you

don't
get most
things that I write,
most things that I like.

After five
hundred sunrises
L.A. has nothing
to say to you.

Went to your house
for dinner last night,
all your
family's frames
were crooked,
girl,

don't make me write
tonight,
I've already
doubled my
entendre
once or twice
in spite of you.

He runs with unbridled joy
And eats every biscuit that he licks
His eyes light up with every new toy
‘Twas a beautiful world and he was just six.

Learning to make friends at school
Coloring books, catching crooks
Pulling ponytails, breaking rules
Big eyes that mesmerize with every look.

Everything was beautiful bliss
But soon this peace was destroyed
His innocence was robbed starting with an unwanted kiss
And the soul became cold, dark and void.

The evil one dimmed his happy fire
And unsparingly exploited his vulnerability
Used his body for  evil desire
Repeatedly ***** him most ruthlessly.

That boy with the spark in his eyes is gone
Salty tears instead of the chocolate ice creams
Blamed god for everything that went wrong
But Alas! No one heard his screams.

He lies down exhausted
Nursing his wounds and scars
Waiting for the train to come around
He was spared to live long and far.

The evil one took everything that he had
But today he fights continuously
To spare others, his fate as a lad
Defiance to the evil one he shows tirelessly.

Because there’s one hope that leads him on
Wounds will heal, scars will fade
Remembering the pain, he cries alone
My son, I’m with you , do not be afraid.