This dreadful old woman yells on her phone,
All her hate echoing through her trailer.
Nothing is enough for her high "standards."
Always too little or too much talking.

She laughs a rancid, wheezy laugh,
Poking fun at the less fortunate and disabled.
Slurs are a part of her daily vocabulary,
Towards others, towards her own grandchild.

Despite being a woman she hates them,
Wishes they would stay home, out of her way.
"Women shouldn't drive, shouldn't lead, shouldn't..shouldn't..."
She sees herself exempt from those rules.

She lounges on her couch,
Scrolling on her one-of-many smart phones,
Insulting others for even daring to look at a screen,
While the small blue screen lights her wrinkles.

Lies and hate blast from the TV,
All are pale privileged men full of hate,
The only ones she listens to.
They preach their superiority over all.

She loosely holds her vape,
Between her rough and bony fingers.
Somehow convinced it's not smoking.
While vapors surround her and cloud the air.

Anyone and everyone different is her enemy,
You must be a white, Christian,
Republican, straight, cis, able bodied,
Citizen to gain any respect from this wretched woman.

The truth is only what she likes,
Only what she agrees with.
She closes her ears to logic and empathy,
She feeds on the hate of those like her.

I do not like my grandmother.

I wanted to speak,
to tear through the lies.
But He was there—
He saw through their eyes.

So I stayed quiet,
though it broke me in two.
Sometimes the loudest defense
is knowing He knew.

I lit a candle, hoping You’d see the smoke
Whispered Your name when the nights felt too long
Kept a cross beside my bed like it could heal me
But my prayers just echo back like I’m the only one here
I forgave when it hurt, said “Amen” through the pain
Thought if I knelt long enough, You would explain
But silence is louder than thunder tonight
And I’m tired of folding my hands just to cry
They told me You listen
But I’ve been screaming in whispers
And now I’m a solar flare, burning with rage
You left me in darkness, now I light up in flames
I begged You for mercy, You gave me a cage
I used to believe, now I curse Your name
You watched me fall, and You just stared
Now I’m rising, untamed, in a solar flare
I gave You my secrets, my hollowed-out trust
I carved out my soul and called it "faith" just because
But You sent me storms when I needed light
And I waited for grace that never arrived
Do You hear me now?
Or am I still just too small?
'Cause I’m a solar flare, glowing with scars
Every unanswered prayer left a burn on my heart
You watched as they broke me, said nothing at all
So I built a cathedral from ruins and ash
Did You ever love me, or was I just noise?
A flicker in the void, a child with no voice
Did You test me for fun, or were You ever there?
Was I your mistake? Did You even care?
I shattered in silence, begged for a sign
And You gave me absence and called it divine
Well now I’m not begging—I'm breaking the air
Let heaven shake—I’m your solar flare
Now I’m a solar flare, a fury untamed
You let me burn, now you’ll know my name
I begged for Your mercy, I begged for Your care
But all I found was a void and despair
I gave You my trust, and You left me there
Now I rise, I burn—watch me flare.
I prayed, I cried, I hoped for a sign
But You gave me nothing—now this flame is mine.
And I’ll burn, I’ll burn, I’ll burn...
In a solar flare…

You probably think
that I go around
thinking about how
Bukowski would approach
what I'm trying to say
well, I don't.
Yes, he's my favorite poet
and I respect his work
and the amount of honesty
he puts in his words
but if you think
that I don't know
that he *******
sprinkled on his work
and that he exaggerated
his life style, stories,
poems, novels.
then you haven't
read enough
of his work
(or mine) to know
that me and Charles
are nothing alike
and that makes you
irrelevant.

A sack of flaming dog ****
on someone's
welcome mat
ready to be put out
by the home owner
who will stomp you out
look at their shoes
and look at you
rinse you off
with the backyard hose
and forget that you
ever bothered him in the first place

within a couple of weeks.

And that's what makes you
my eternal enemy
because no one cares
about your opinion
of my work
and how different
and unique it is
from Bukowski's.
And if that's true
then the chances are
no one else will either.
God has doomed me
to be a hell of a writer
who can see right through
your lavender
infused poetry—
Leave it for the tea bags.
That's the prospect
I'll have to live with
as I am right now
at 4 am
while I stare at the walls
my dog twitches
while he sleeps on the floor
and while he dreams
insomnia
keeps me company
while it rains.

Oh, and *******.

By the good grace of the gods, those who have dared to taint my face with a welt, shall receive divine punishment - and not by those who are deemed mighty high above or the denounced who dwell at a plane below mantle and core. But by me, solely me, without maledictions or the intangible, me. Smote by my might. I am not a dictator, nor a man filled with ill-intent, though my words will be carved upon stone and actions dignified in blood. For me to be assaulted in such a haphazardly manner. As a conclusion to you actions know that death is your prometheus, death to your people, death to your land, death to your cattle. My violence exceeds the confines of your cranium, in a similar fashion my anguish extends across the lands; it will agonisingly, crucifying in arduity, mundane if it has to chase and chastise you to the proverbial end of the world. So, to whatever omnipotence you pray to (or do not), it is futile, you will be reprimanded and dealt with promptly, death to all those you love, death to the vermin you shelter in your home by the vignette oil-lit-lamp and the capacious pillow you so pompously lay your head. -

death to you.

I write because
I have to.
There is no rhythm or reason.
My poetry isn't for you
half the time
it isn't even for me.
It just is.

Once in a while
the hands from the "chosen" gods of
allpoetry.com
will deem me worthy
to grace the stage
of "front page"
Where all the big wigs of the site
get flowers
their proverbial ***** stroked
and told how pretty they are.

Poems like mine don't get chosen much.
I have to be
literally *******
the picker
to get one of my
mediocre writes
displaced for
a few hundred
or thousand views
some likes and of course
DMs from boys.

There are times such as today
where my writes get taken off of "pending picks"
The God of this land finds my words to be too offensive.
Asking what do certain metaphors mean
and my formating is wrong.
I make my own words "weak"
That the word *******, is
too strong.
To that
I light my nightly cigar
and the urge to burn
my page down
is fighting
with the cats and possums
clawing into each other's back
between the shed and old fence.

To hell with
modest clothes
that cover full breast.
**** the short skirts I wear
and the boots that I could very easily kick your teeth in with.

If you want poetry
about babbling brooks,
tall red wood trees
and metaphors you can
sing to your
small child at night
while her father
slams down
another empty can of beer
hoping to not wake
up in a bed of his own ****
in the morning.
That won't be misplaced here.


Dear reader
my poetry
isn't for you.
Neither is it
front page
"worthy"
I write about
depression
***
cheating
loneliness
being ******* over.
About being
Bi polar
and all the
******* pills I
have to take
to let me sit
near the "normal crowd"
and if that's not what you want to read.
then go **** yourself
*******.

I got so many feelings they leave me reeling, stealing second after second because I’m the first to leave and the last to go, too guarded to believe and too frozen to flow.

Words cut into thirds and still too long to belong but too short to be strong,

I’m not tough I’m all bluff and all guff  I know stuff but not enough
Hands cuffed and shoes scuffed I’m too rough easily rebuffed and left puffed

I hope one day I find a way to be alone and okay but for now my skies are gray even on sunny days and like the waves I know I’ll eternally return but for now I burn, endless fire and pain a pyre without rain burning forever, chains I cannot sever no matter how clever I spit my wit aint **** in the big mitt.

Held in the hands of the One but no lifeline comes so I feel like I’m being burned in the sun, taxed like earned income, vexed like an anti-vaxxer with a sneezing son, fried by having too much fun and lied to by myself as I lie down in the sun, shoulda used suncreen but my burned skin screams and my broken dreams teem around the edges of a vessel losing steam, engines down and shields almost depleted, if this is Star Trek than I’m a red shirt being yeeted, if it’s a contest I’m this close to defeated, a few feet more and I’m off the shore, swept away in the ocean and no potion can stop this downward motion more than gravity seized by the sea I see no light to swim toward so I get floored, and at the bottom I grab a shovel and start to dig, maybe if I lean in to my demise I’ll be able to fantasize that this was a choice, that I have a voice, that I’m more than another skeleton swallowed by time in the end, I got the bends I sank too fast and even if I try to rise again the nitrogen will do me in, so why the hell should I even try when I could just lie here lying to myself, another bottle off the shelf another twisted elf helping me help myself abandon wealth and fall into deprivation, depraved agitation with no sanitation, ***** not clean nice and mean like mice and men I’ve gone awfully awry and I’m not shy enough to hide my shame so in these words I confide, some part of me awake for the ride while the rest sleeps in the tide, hoping the waves take me home, soma holiday the only way I’ll feel okay, my soma and germ both squirm with the ancestral trauma I spurned until it churned into a calamity inside of me that consumes me in gloom and doom until there is no room to do anything else but retreat back to the waiting room womb.

I typed that in one breath but still death would not save me from myself, this is not a cry for help this is more like a review on yelp, my life review is five out of five in the shine and naught out of who cares when the rain lays me bare, and cold and alone my flashlight shone on white bone and rotting flesh, death so everpresent it’s like christmas every day oh yay I hope my sarcasm forces a giggle from a lip so that this eclipse lifts for the briefest second, a glimpse at the life I could have had but somehow missed, the mist covers my eyes, first second and third, and the bird’s eye view tells me I’m *******, but when I look from the floor, well that view ***** more, so I guess ******* less would mean success, but the report card is hard to care about when I carted out my art so long ago, I started out with eyes on the throne now I’d **** to throw myself a bone and feel like there was a hope I could atone or find a road to home.

Tones bring me joy, music from the noise, something I wish I could make but I feel deaf and dumb when I try so I numb myself with wine until I’m fine to eat off the vine that others planted, feeling like a waste of space I wish I could face my fears, face to the mirror without my eyes wide shut, but the feeling in my gut is like a rifle **** slammed by a soldier, the pain surges and smolders, aching shoulders make it hard to stand straight, grated down like cheddar I used to be better than this now I’m a sweater poorly knit, a useless *** and a hub of useless code that would erode the minds of better men if they let my poison seep in, so I keep myself at a distance, I witness, hide my mental fitness and put on airs to win the princess.

I’m sorry I stole your heart you should have never let it part from your chest because now I confess I come off like the best but I am cursed to sometimes be the worst, an endless thirst I cannot slake, relentless life I cannot take, smiles I no longer fake because the weight finally ground me down to nothing in the end, nothingness my final gift to lend I guess I’ll just make space until I finally find erasure, the sweet bliss of death’s kiss will launch me to the next great adventure, returned to sender, smart like Ender my heart was rendered fully now it’s rended dully, blunt knives hack apart ventricles that used to start a beat that moved my feet, but now like lead I feel less alive than dead, and hope for resurrection is my only real direction.

Someone give me sign. Help me climb. Remove my blinds. Remind me of the path to the divine.

I am having my very first heartbreak

Not the one gifted by my highschool sweetheart

Or crushes kissing someone else's,

Not to this extent they made me ache

faking my senses

To the point where I believe my existence is a mistake.


Who am i?


The person who i had to be to become more lovable,

More palatable

Their emotional punching bond,

mental spitting pond


Where am i?


within the vacuum of nothingness, bye,

I am swirling into the great rock bottom beyond,

Where my failures are calling me down to die,

But, Giving up my life to appease the devil can...not.


I am having my very first heartbreak

My parents don’t love me for who i really am

But for who they prefer me to wake

To the expense of my authentic self so i self harm

With an emotional and mental intake,

That keeps my realness locked up, so i  forsake

Because how can I enter this world without them behind my back?


Born to be ashamed, i am

Guilty of inadequacies so they request i parent them

Neglected, i abandon my inner child now orphaned

No place within to call home

Everywhere in my heart its cold, not warm

I crave this loss of love, I am ******!

So i lose my dignity to get as little love i can get, slam

i am having my first heartbreak

Because i am lame

poor little bunny boy
locked inside your cage
didnt you hear
theres nothing to fear
your death will be staged
this sticky gross flesh will stay on your bones
nobody to love you
your ears trapped in cones
sweet little bunny boy
all alone in this cruel world
everyone is leaving
you have no time for grieving
your soft hair turning frizzy and curled.
dumb little bunny boy
you thought they would stay?
we did too
they all lied to you
youre still the one to pay.
my little bunny boy
stuck in your skin
your small broken voice
lost in the din
my baby bunny boy
everyone is gone
all alone
you stay at home
no one notices youve left
maybe
its
b
e
t
t
e
r
this way.