Pittsburgh, PA Raw. Gritty. Truth. I publish some work here to meet readers. My premium poetry is found in my books and through rewards on Patreon. Together, we will revel in sin, drink whiskey, and fall in love. ▶︎▶︎▶︎ Patreon.com/rongavalik ▶︎▶︎▶︎ PittsburghPoet.com 74 followers / 8.0k words
Old lady perfume wafts through the café. The smell of wildflowers rolled through baby powder baffles me. That scent is an asexual surrender of life and love. That stink is the active ****** of the will to go on. It is malevolence in the wind.
Humans need less inspiration and more answers, less hope and more truth, less spectacle and more words, less *** and more love. We need to listen and understand, drink water, eat good food, laugh, kiss, and weep until a long sleep.
Dating is a blood sport where one must scrape for life. If the match is won, you help each other limp together as champions through the struggles of time. If the game is lost, you stare out windows alone, always wondering about the life that could have been had you triumphed.
When the poetry doesn't work, don't sweat it. Get up from the chair and go for a walk, pet a strange cat, befriend a blind man on the sidewalk. Few items are made of paper, and the best poetry is not printed on it.
When I had joy, I didn't know it. When the joy left, that's when I knew. I've been trying to get the joy back. That work is a struggle. There's sweat and strife. Still, I'm optimistic. The joy will return.
If you seek an education, go to a university or a trade school. If you want to learn, talk to the bums, the ****** the immigrants in fields. They’re the experts on humanity. Their wallets are as empty as their stomachs, but their souls are dipped in gold.