I may never change the world with words.
I may never write a string of syllables  
that a high school kid will be forced to memorize.  

But I know that I must try
because the world is a wonderfully awful
brutally beautiful place and everyday
I look at something I saw yesterday
and still it shakes me.

And maybe I write too many poems
about too few different things like
women that get stuck in my head
the way poems sometimes get stuck in my pen
or... did I mention the women?

But I'm going to keep writing
about the same four things
or the same one girl
until I can read it back to myself
and instead of it reminding me of what I ment
it will show you what I saw.

Because in the end you gotta do
what you gotta do and I HAVE to do this
and I don't care how much I was
called a ***** in high school or last week.
And it doesn't matter if I meet somebody in a bar
and when I say I'm a poet they smile and walk away
and never look back.

Because I AM a poet
not because I made the choise
but because I was born this way

and before you comment on how
I'm stealing the slogan
of Mamma Monster
I'm going to say that it's not about
being gay, or the wrong color,
or being sluttier than most people like,
or being crazier than most people can handle,
it's about absolutely owning who you are,

because deep down we're all a little queer
and you can let your oddities make you invisible
or you can make them turn you into a monster
and let you be the thing that goes bump
in the middle of the day.

And if you don't like it
I apologize for this unpoetic end
but you can go **** yourself.

I travel trough the heavy rain
I sit lonesome on a lonely train
I play blues
These days are grey,  these nights  are blue
my mind keeps coming back to you
I play the blues

I travel with desire
Past houses lit on fire
I play jazz
Windows lit by sundown
My train-seat old and rundown
I play jazz

Rainbow roads in colored blurr
Pretty little towns I'm sure
I play swing
Past mirror waves and open sky
My stomach tingles, wonder why I
Play swing

***** feet on ***** train
Skin so white I see my veins
I play punk
Impatient taps and flickering lights
Soon the day will turn to night
I play punk

Head in the clouds, mind at ease
Longing for the morning breeze
I play Pink Floyd
Memories hanging from branches
Passengers sharing brief glances
I play Pink Floyd

I'm coming home, I'm on my way, but I travel still...
I travel not by force... yet not by will
Music of choise as soundtrack to the silent film
beyond the windowsill

Life can just taste like mud
like your licking it off the steal toe boot
that kicked you to the floor in the first place,
yet we all stand up or die, and it is a sad choise
but it can turn few into sunset admiring warriors
and others in to those whom can survive an oil infested
jungle. ether way falling into a personal void like getting
lost on the moon is how it can all start...getting lost in the jungle
drowning in the oil, it keeps going life, even when we stop
and sometimes we just look up in the sky and eat it.

My friends and I - what irony!
When you see people come and go
then wonder when your turn will show.
Just sit and wait
like on a ticking bomb
with a delay.

My friends and I - such irony!
They play their rules and games
to see how long they'll get away.
The choise is yours
to say or stay!
Where lies your heart?
How much to take?
... until you break?
My friends and I - the irony!

it is not about the choise,
you are going to make,
it's not about her,
who's voce you're gonna take.
Today is all about me

You made up your mind
You chose me
I'm happy
The first time in weeks
And all I can say is
.......................
I'm speechless
Thank you
I know you made the right choise
I promise
I'll treat you and your baby right
Do everything in my power
To make y'all happy
I swear

the life is a world
compleatly diferent from ours
with trees and animals and beutyful things everywere
flowers and butterfly flying in the sky
lions and tigers playng with cats
elephants and mouses living together in the same house
humans and dogs with the same toys
with not a single fight about who got it first.


the death is a world**
compleatly diferent from ours
with black sky with no clouds
the humans and animals and plant are disaper from the ground
the floor with a gray aspect and gloomy ground
the silent in ths air with any noise
trying to be and have more choise
and trying tho save a pice of green ground.