There's a little mailbox off Broad Street that serves as a sort of library. You can take books out and you can put books in.
Yesterday, directly across the street from the library there was a sign on front porch of a house that read "free" and there was a pile of belts and hats and other things.

I want you to write about me but you don't know me and all I know about you is that you're not happy with who you are and that you write and that you're beautiful and disgusting and I am all of these things as well.

My mother has been pulling her hair out; she is losing a custody battle for my little sister, she lost her job and is living off welfare. I'm working two jobs because she asked me not to eat the food in the house so I do enough drugs I don't want to eat and punk rock music is always softly playing from my room, I can't stand it any louder.

My shoes have holes in them.
My gas light has been on for two days.
And I am happy.
The end is never the end,
I won't bother wrapping this poem up because it is not over.

I dated a girl who emotionally abused me for months and when I finally split things off I cried everyday for a couple months.

I split things off with a girl who I loved with all my heart, I continue to believe I would cross oceans for her, yet I have not cried.

I'm an oxymoron, a lesson in irony.
I'm an upbeat jazz number, played in a minor chord.
I feel the world for those around me,
and only bitter disdain for myself.

I'm attractive, I've got a strong jaw line,
and a nose most guys would **** for.
I dress better than the guys I run with,
and my hair does exactly what I want it to.

I read French existentialist authors
and consider myself well versed in modern jazz.
I've got a steady job, and I've never been late once.

When I think about who I am,
and the jealousy I feel towards the happiness I am not providing you,
I get sick to my stomach.

All I've ever wanted is for you to be happy and you appear to be so and I'm upset because I'm a jealous ***** of a man who has the emotional capacity of a child longing for his mother's teet.


I don't know why I feel the way I do but I'm out of *** and I have to deal with how I'm feeling and that will be a first.

I wake up,
look at you,
I see everything.
while I linger
on the corners of your mouth
I see the pillars of morning light
and the way your breath
is hypnotic

I see the moment between
dreaming and day
for all it's worth
and I know in my bones
that it's worth holding onto
I see your eyebrows furrow
and remember why
I should burn the letters
that I write when I'm angry

I remember when I saw you
and I couldn't remember
where we'd gotten lost
but my soul sighed with relief
when I found you

I see you
and I see everything

People are uncomfortable with truth.
There is truth in silence
and people are uncomfortable with silence.

When asked how one is doing, the proper response is 'fine' or any indicator of greater ease.
One is expected to participate in class activities, team building exercises, and other meticulous, tedious motions of repetition.

One should shake hands, smile, participate in pagentry when only putrescence is felt.

One should not look at walls, there is no social status in looking at walls.
One should not have problems unless they are desirable. Anxiety, but too bad. Depression, but not too bad.
One should appear clean and well slept,
one should claim one received very little sleep, regardless of how much sleep one actually received.

If one is female, one should show skin but not too much skin.
If one is female, one should not resist ****** advances, yet one should not have multiple ****** partners.

If one is male, one should be in fit condition, one should not cry, and one should not show interest in a member of the opposite gender except for those of a ****** nature. One should not acknowledge the existence of more than two genders, ****** orientations, or trains of thought.

One should be socially and politically aware, but one should not raise their voice on these issues unless others of a high social status are.

One should be happy, but not too happy.

i wrote you
letters last January
so many, i
had to pull the sterling rings
you gave me
from my cramping fingers
just to keep
putting bone against black
and ease you
out of me gently

*** was never as good
with the dishes done
or the laundry folded
and we never
held time
for chores
once we
were finished

remember to never let a ****** change you
without permission

You needed something to occupy
so you could feel loved
and you chose my heart.
Gladly I opened it for you.

You were lonely when you kissed me,
you kissed me because you were lonely.
I kissed you because I thought it was the right thing to do,
kissing you was the wrong thing to do.

Now, you're no longer lonely and you don't need me. You've found other people to make you feel loved and now you can spare none for me. ****, you can't even call me back.

You make me feel stupid and naive.
Stupid to love you
and naive to think you could ever love me back.