Those folks
They cry about forgotten love
As though it's a thing of yesterday
We all snicker at their naiveté
For it is known their love cares little
So cry on, little poet, cry your little heart out
But you achieve nothing

Those folks
They weep as though they're wounded
Yelling wolf about some depression
What's got you down? Some advice
Maybe stop taking yourself so seriously
Poems about how hard it is from noblemen
You've never seen the Tysa overflow

Those folks
Crying over your mother like a child
So what if she is dead?
Shouting to the rest of us like some imbecile
Crazed upon the perch of suicide
When it is just a woman who birthed you
Why, mine didn't even love me

Those folks
Singing odes to addiction
Be it hiding behind drugs or alcohol
Snubbing your face with powder
Locking yourselves in your room
Suspended bodies of privilege
Crying about hardship

Those folks
Who have never been attacked by their own mind
Assaulted by their trusted
Tricked by those they loved
Who've never seen a man take his life
Or heard someone get shot
And think they've been through it all

Those folks
Who have never heard the true songs
The real notes of reality pass them by
Hide from the world all you want
But those prophets were once right
And if you had listened you might know
But you just assumed you're as smart

You folks
With your upper-class *****
Your cliques of conceit and deceit
Those godforsaken silver windows
You've never seen it rain like it does
You've never seen the fire in the forest
So quiet down, you good-for-nothing *******.

She looks on into the clock, wondering when the bell would signal her release from boredom. She finds herself playing with the hoodie of a classmate, hoping he'd focus on her to have someone keep her mind from the mundane atmosphere of the classroom. She always loved messing with his hoodie during class because his reactions were always funny. She tosses the piece of clothing from one hand to the other when She comes to realize the patient nature of the classmate and thanks him for not leaving her in a world of loneliness and apologizes for having to put up with her.

I say good bye to you one last time
but I know it won't be the last
because I'm addicted to you
and I'll be back for more.

Please don’t view me as white
Or working class
Maybe middle class
Or straight or gay
(I happen to be straight)
Or Leaver or Remainer
Believer or Non-Believer
Aristocrat or Commoner
Patrician or Pleb
Or Anything else.

Don’t put me in a box
Or file
Or stereotype.

I’d rather be Unclassified
Or seen simply as
A Human Being.

Paul Butters

© PB 18\1\2020.

all the noises echoing around me,
the sounds getting stuck
bouncing around inside my skull,
the feet tapping
those pens dropping
that page turning
my mind as clear as a blizzard day,
hearing every little creek,
over and over,
higher and higher,
faster and faster,
my brain never stops,
these sounds can’t escape,
nobody can see it, but…

…the silence has never been so loud

I miss licking strawberry-flavored suckers on the school bus
Gossiping who John kissed and wishing it was us
Passing notes in class-we didn't give a ****
The location of Africa or Amsterdam
The only sponge worried about was SpongeBOB
Wasn't our responsibility to clean, cook, or get a job
"Stinky **** Head" was the most insulting name
Mario unanimously was the best video game
As kids we frolicked fast, funloving, and free
Uncaring if our homemade tire swings were rickety
Doodling margins of each battered schoolbook
A time where if caught in a fight you got let off the hook
Being happy for no reason is what i miss about childhood the most
Awakening to my favorite breakfast made by Dad-french toast
I would jump out of bed looking forward to school
Bringing lunch packed in a brown paper bag was cool
Now I hate opening my tired eyes
This planet transformed into one I despise
Once upon a time I felt whole and strong though so small
Today I'm much bigger but feel nothing at all

just being near you
I'm loosing my breath.

I wonder if you were to touch me
would my lungs collapes.