Poetry
Self-interest
Entitlement
Title Fight
Fighting Rights
Dining light
And finger ******* away feelings.

I wanted to make that stuff that’d rhyme
Only to realize I’ve yet to mime
And find time
To reference the Power Rangers in a piece.

Nobody does that.
Why did I do that?
Whobody does what?
Whybody does who?

What the **** am I?
Who the **** are you?

Language, Mr. Clement, language.
Reign that tongue in before I stick it to a frozen pole

i just want to dance on your lap
and hear the butterflies flit
and sing in your ear
about how much i want you.
oh dear, i want to kiss your neck
tug on your hair softly
and leave you wanting more.
tiger, i want you to kiss my lips
and taste the love that pours
out of me constantly.
i want you to want me.

i want you to feel my heart,
my hips, my eyes, my lips...
i want you to know me
and my brain, and my curves, and my voice...
i want you to want me.

i need you to need me
like a school needs kids or a
like a flower needs sunlight.
i want you to trust me
like how you trust her
with your 'everlasting love'
i want you to love me
not just in bed, but in our lives.
i want you to show me you care.
show me please dear god just show me

show me.
i'm begging you.

Never stare out the window with only 3 minutes until work.
Ideas sink between priority and procrastination
and you're caught in the turbulence.
And the worst part is,
it's fulfilling.
More so than most meniality
moving through the heads
of every driver
in every car
on every street.

Walking down the street I pass
a girl walking in her bundle of flannel and warmth
strut strut strut
I blow smoke from the corner of my mouth
to spare her the danger
of my second hand smoke