Let the poetry of others repose in majestic halls:
My poems are filler for paper shredders,
For packing in shipping boxes,
And backing for flypaper sticky strips;
To wipe the muddy soles of shoes
That have seen too much of springtime
In the garden.

Others poetry fills the airwaves, and sits between the covers of books;
My poetry is for grocery lists,
And sudden messages you need to scribble while on the telephone,
And maps to undiscovered geneological treasures
That are only a township away-
To trace the faces of cool tombstones
Under a mid-day sun.

You won't find my poetry near any other kind of list
That doesn't say get bleach, dog food, and toilet paper.
Still, my poetry is from a well lettered life-
I have written all my heartbeats, and most of my sighs
Into sibylline hieroglyphics, from midnight initiations
In the secret brotherhood, of my own soul:
And I will die a freeman, because nobody
Will ever feel the need to own any of these words.

I am sorry for ruining all vaginas for you
I hope you can recover eventually
She said

I hate to burst your **** bubble
But I’ve slid some lies between your thighs
When howling at your moon wasn’t so much praise
As it was longing for a change of ***** scenery

People change?

How I feel right now
is like when one time I was sick
And my parents recorded a show I watched
so I could watch it later
And at the end of the show
there was a number for a contest to go to space camp

I called that number
It was disconnected
I always find out the important stuff
A little late

I cried that day

I just wanted to go to space camp

And I just wanted someone to love me like a black hole
A warm black hole to put all my love into
**** me in and fix me like there’s no turning back
I mean in the darkness of space
They all look the same
All yank at you turbulent and fiery head rush passion

I mean we all love the same

So I am sorry I overshot your Venus
To crash land in Uranus
A semi-purposeful curious passion

You coulda yelled ****
We felt like ****
When we walked away

Parts of me have always been missing
And I tried to fill the gaps with you
Problem is when you might be gay and are fighting it
Your closet is a ******

Not your fault your beard looked funny on my ****
You can’t wear a person like an accessory
I can’t slap her like masculinity till I feel straight again
Some things aren’t right
I’m not right
And you are so messed up now
Because you have this superpower to turn men gay

You can’t turn men gay
You can only remind them of the pain that lies
In lying to themselves when they know
None of this feels right

None of it will

Dear former lover
Former black hole body
Former holder of my confusion
And filler of my empty spots

I ****** up by ******* you

I ****** up

Uneasy, queezy, no breezy feeling,
On currents that carry you home.

Settle, Swallow.
Love him, Sparrow.

A nest shouldn't be so cold.

Conscience, consuming.
My stomach has turned inside
and in on itself.

My eyes have rotted
and reduced to such lifeless,
stationary orbs.

Today is the day,
I ***** my weaknesses
to teach myself strength.

We're all watching you walk
walk away from us all.
Where are you going?

Street lamps shatter and your feet kiss the glass shards
but you don't bleed, minipulate your mouth into smug smiles
Miles, miles, miles, miles.
Watch your step theres a bump in the road.
There's no time to smell the daisies,
there's no time to turn your head
Just smile and walk, miles, miles, miles,
Glass eyes don't cry and neither do yours.
Would one be game enough to ask,
where are you going?

The pier, a long walk on a short pier
or a short walk to a long pier?
Stumble on loose nails and skim your worries across the water
that tortured mind is occupied.

I say, my dear, what a lovely day you've chosen
What a lovely day it's chosen for you to walk
The sun is shining, clouds gathering upon the horizon
The grass is green and stale Rome air never smelt so sweet.

Oh god, Rosa! Your foot nearly slipped!
Darling girl, the end of the pier is rotting, watch your step.
Stumbling and your eyes! they're so, so red.
Rosa, can you hear us?
"αυτό είναι δικό μου χοίρων"
You're lucky the priests aren't here demon,
Rosa, demon, you're skitterish and talking nonsense.
Are you ready to jump?

They sit there
And stare.
They think they know me
They don't.
They ask, "why?"
Hell if I know.

And they will never know why.

That's the beginning of my story. It ends the same way.

But before the beginning, I had
hopes, dreams.
Just like every other girl.

"Don't be silly, little girl.
You'll soon grow up and realize
that the world
is one ******. up. place."

Not as ****** up as myself, though.

If an easy rain
would make the rocks slippery,
he would hold my hand.