I still can't sleep
I've piled up pillows and blankets
And am now resting upright
Against a large pile of soft things.

I have written about my grief
Now that has been addressed
But there is another feeling
That has been draining my capacitors.

I feel a lot of love
I feel love immensely.
I feel love for every living thing that has ever existed
And I am grateful to each thing
For enriching my life
And contributing to the amazing thing
That is me.

I can barely contain my love
I want to declare my love
On every mountain
Every minute of every day
It's too much

I know lots of people who I love
Who don't like to know that I love them
And that hurts
But it's okay
Because really
All I want
Is for each thing that I love
To have something good
That makes their lives fuller

That would be the most perfect gift to me.

I am having difficulty sleeping.
I have an upset tummy
And there is some emotional turmoil in my head.
I wish you all very nice dreams and
Cuddles with your loved ones
I want you to have something good
That makes your life fuller.

I always feel so much.
I am always feeling
And I can't deal with it all at once.
So I put up barriers in my mind
To block those feelings off
And let me deal with them later.

Those barriers used to be a lot sturdier
But since some events in September of 2017
They have been very easy to break down.
That is how I want it.

Mostly I am feeling grief.
I grieve a lot of things
I grieve every loss
Every grievance
That has ever left someone with less
That has ever left someone with hurt

I have been told not to grieve so much
For things that are not in my life.
For things that are out of my control
But I cannot stop feeling.
I don't want to stop feeling
And I grieve all these things because
They leave me with less
And they leave me with hurt.

I don't know if anyone
will ever know
how much I care about them
no matter who it is

nobody knows why I care
why I want them to care
about each other
and I don't know why they can't

I care because I can't not
it is a matter of life and death

I hope you don't find out
I don't know if you would survive it

I looked up and saw someone
and she pointed at something in the distance.
I couldn't peel my eyes off of her.
I pulled on her hand
but she only pointed.
So I looked
and now I want to stand
but I need a little help.

I want to tell you about my day
the feelings that hurt me so bad
until I finally sorted them out.
But the more I tell you
the more it will hurt when you reject me
for whatever reason
because you will be rejecting everything I have confided in you.

So I want to start by telling you
that I want to be closer to you
I want you to be able to confide in me.
I want to know what you care about
I want to know how I can help when you are having anxiety
I want to know you before I tell you about my day.

everything is covered with thorns
nothing is good
that is what I see

what changed?
now that my last delusion is being torn from me
do I see it clearer,
or is it painted with my despair?
which is right?

when does it end?

I think I have come up with a solution
to the dilemma I described in another recent poem.
It is a path I always knew was available to me
but I did not know how to start upon it.
I am happy that it has remained open.

What is knowledge if it is not acted upon?
I will now reveal my most painful thought,
the burden I have been ******* about,
because we need to do something about it.
not just sit idly by as it destroys everything we know.

My secret is a spoiler.
The spoiler.
The ultimate spoiler.
The end of the universe.
"the heat death of the universe"
google it, and see.

This is really hard for me, saying this,
especially knowing that someone really cool may read it
and suffer as I have.
Please don't let it get you down.
although, I'm sure you won't.

But I have written so much already
and I haven't given what the title has promised.
The Solution is to construct a foundation
upon which future generations
of scientists,
inventors,
innovators,
and all of humankind
can build upon
so as to not only avert this terrible disaster
but to delve ever deeper into the vast reality we are born to

I know a few things about pain.
Sticks and stones, you know that one,
you know what else hurts?
Being powerless.
Being at the mercy of someone you don't know.
Having a complete stranger put you in a situation
that you can't deal with
that you can't do anything to stop
that all you can do is to pick up the pieces.
To be a victim.


What you don't know can't **** you.
At least, in this case, it can't.
There is something that I know
that I know you don't know
(I hope you don't know)
because knowing this thing that I know
is killing me.
That hurts, but what hurts more
is being separated from everybody by knowing
because you don't want anybody else to feel this pain
and you know there is no escape from this burden anymore
but you hope that there is
but the burden reminds you
(I have to omit this line, or I will be giving you the burden to carry)
(****)
(I am using this website to show you I feel)
(because knowing that you know how I feel is a comfort)
(I am only human after all)

Thank you for following me.
Now I will use you as a target
At which I will violently throw my worst feelings.


I am at a crossroads
Every minute of every day I am at a crossroads
and I see that
(most of the time, I sometimes forget)
but today I am at a crossroads of particular significance.
Today's crossroads branch in a million different ways:

Half of them lead to my death

One of them leads to a great life

And one of them maintains status quo.

Some of the ones that lead to my death involve helping one life now:
my girlfriend, a shy, naive girl who lives the normal life
the life of normality
and status quo
and cattle

Others involve remaining in the dark corners of my house.
I find it hard to be alone
because I cannot see the light of life on my own
and I never share that with anyone, because. . .
I don't know.
I have found that knowing hurts sometimes,
but I can bear pain.
I am of it.

The path that can lead me to a great life is unclear.
It might involve me burying what I know
so that I may spare others the pain.
I dream of having a niece or nephew,
but I see the narcissism and selfishness of that,
and I will explore that in detail later.

The path that stays on track,
the status quo,
is the one I truly fear.
It involves staying at home for a while,
working a day job
and hating every second of it
waiting for an opportunity to present itself
for me to get out of this horrible horrible place.
I think normality is the worst hell.



I think that in making this poem,
I have started on one path
and I will start another path
when I write another poem.
Is this poetry?
What is poetry?
I am going to stop this right here because this train of thought
leads to darker places than you can imagine.

Thank you, The Demons Within,
for being my unwilling, unwitting target

I live on the world.
Wide.
Web.

There is no place like it.
Truly.

Everything you could ever need is right.
There.

And it is so much.
Fun.

Did you know how small you are?
I sure didn't.
Does it bother you?

Wishing you well,
This Guy  ☞ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

And here I thought I had turned a new leaf.
Oh well, I won't bother you with the details

I never like to pretend that I know better
but in this case, I think I do:
one poem, written by Born
titled "love"
went like this:
I know I matter most

In theory, this particular idealism should prove true,
but in practice, you just feel like **** anyways.
I find that the best way to go about this
particular train of thought
is to hang a left at humility
and consider your options from her side of view.

looking at my re-introductory poem
to the world of hello poetry,
I realized that I had never posted
a poem about rage (but I sure did do a number on confusion)
so here is one for you, love.

I HATE MY LIFE
I HATE MY JOB
I HATE MY FRIENDS
I HATE MY CAT
I HATE CATS
I HATE ANYTHING FLUFFY
INCLUDING CATS
SO JUST
SHUT UP
SHUT UP
SHUT UP
SHUT UP
SHUT UP
SHUT UP
SHUT UP
SHUT UP

don't let this title fool you
as it would have fooled me
into ignoring this poem.
if you ignore this poem, it should be your own decision,
not some title's influence.

but that really gets away from
what this alphabet soup means.
or does it?
I know that I derive joy from breaking my own biases
so why not share my joy with you?
oops, already did
(see above)

That one of my poems--
ANY of my poems
--was added to a collection
by someone else
makes me feel really good about my ****** poems
thank you

hello poetry,
it's been a while.
I haven't looked at you since the last time I was upset
and needed something
or someone
to help me.
this time, though,
I am not here to dump
all of my pent up rage
frustration
confusion
noise
on you.
Instead I intend to share
all of my pent up joy
wonder
ideas
italics
music
with you.

now to you it may be noise-
I never said I was any good-
but in the end, someone will hear
and that's what I'm counting on

There have been enough
Sappy poems of love
That address how sappy they are.
So I will keep this one to myself.

I took the ink blot test
and responded to each blot
with the first thing to come to mind

for the first blot,
I answered:
a headless angel of death.
this was a bad answer.

for the second blot,
I said:
high five with legs chopped off.
this was a bad answer.

for the third blot,
I wrote:
the face of gluttony
this was a bad answer

for the fourth blot
I shakily stated:
I see a mountain of agony
and at the bottom
are two pilgrims
of hope
and ability
carrying the burden of man between them.
this was the first thing to pop into my head.
and it was a bad answer.

it was supposed to show what I think of my father.
I certainly had a lot to say.
but nobody I asked really knew how to interpret that.
so for now,
I am just crazy.

Ponies are cool.
they can have wings
and soar through the air,
or they can have horns
and use magic.
Or they can be plain
and still be just as important.
There are a lot of good things
about being a pony.

but ponies don't have hands
or feet
and they live in a matriarchal society.

I like being human
because we have hands
and feet
and live in an equal society (sort of)

we don't have wings
so we make them.
we don't have horns
so we make best with what we have.
all of us are more or less plain
and that makes us equal.

there are a lot of good things
about being a human.
and I am glad to be one.

I am a brony.
I like my little pony.
I do not care that you think
that bronys are ****
or that ponies are gay.
I like my little pony,
and there is nothing you can do about it.

She said that I'm her best friend.
That can't be too bad.
Actually, that's great!

I can do this.
She's my friend.
That's how it was before,
And how it is again.

I don't have to remember how it was before
Because this is something new.

Happy days are numerous.

Continue to enjoy the limitless splendid days
until night falls.

Apologies for wrongdoings become comforts
for the poor and inconsolable.

Forever doubt the incongruity of jocular locutions
and reality
in order to truly find the blissful song of life

it *****,
that ****;
the **** that *****
that lives inside my head.

it gropes around
for things to smite
with ****
because it *****.

the more I try
to smite the ****,
the more the **** smites
my thoughts with ****.

the **** that smites
my thoughts when I
try to smite the ****
that lives inside my head

***** like ****
that smites my thoughts
when I smite the ****
for smiting me.