Sometimes I wonder if it's just from a lack of life experience. Easy for me to say though, since I'm not a poet, and I write nursery rhymes. A closed mind causes individual thought to bounce off of cranium walls, and when these confused thoughts do leave the body, they literally bounce around your living quarters and infect those that you love. So, if you blame writer's block on anything but yourself, you are just projecting more "confused" energy.

I picture a person just sitting there with a pen or phone, angry at the world that they are scared of. Maybe I am wrong, but it truly is related to laziness. These same people sometimes use that anger to inform others of how stupid they are. Never stopping to look at themselves.

I can't help but think that it's the ones who study, research, and live life more that get famous. These people with writer's block self publish, and yes, possibly end up with a book in the library...you know, the books that never get borrowed and look brand new, even when they're old.

You do know what a library is right? Well, grow some passion, and do some research. Walk a path that you normally wouldn't walk. After all, hasn't it all been said about poetry, poets, butterflies, writer's block?

I can't help but to think that some of these same people are like the haters that tried to run me off for years. Guilty conscious? Nope, guilty sub-conscious.

Don't worry, I have enough written to post 5 poems a day for 10 years. Maybe I will get a chance to post those someday. As for now, my mind is continually evolving, and searching...and finding. I just sit down and the *******(poetry) pours out of me. This is not poetry...true

It seems to me that I am a *****,
Cheap a *****,
Perfumed flower of the Day...
What else, what else I wasn't there...
Here and there...

I lost the one I thought too good,
She had a mission,
All too great... It's over, now.
I may just die, from their end...

True, true... They need no prayers,
They need no rescuers of their souls,
They're that good.
Or' Maybe they have no soul,
No soul they have...
She May be just a *****... I am too proud for this...
But would you care...
Oh, yeah, you showed all the care.
Maybe she didn't have a choice...

I'm just a *****, among other things,
I like to dance... I like to think...
Your Perfume take, quite cheap,
Cheap, cheap romance,
Cheap romance
Like an ocean breeze.
...
Do you think she doesn't care,
She has no feelings, o' heart, no brain.
Maybe she didn't have a choice,
Wish we were all much luckier...


I'm Just a *****, dear, what did you expect?

Dedicate
your success
to the haters
as
they always stoop so low
so you may rise up

doesn’t matter

it’s the fact that
every last one of

you

thinks we shouldn’t
and that’s where
you’re wrong

give us an alternative
that will raise the bar
that high
that fast
from that little

you can’t

i don't blame you for not trying

Legislators of social stigmatization
hand out identity before child birth,
reluctantly judged by your pigmentation,
you're given a name
and a pew in a church,
assigned to a gender with implications,
while ATM balance determines your worth

Bugs will certainly inherit the Earth

Disguised as your neighborhood
privacy invaders,
cops kick in the door
at your mother's front porch,
enforcing law written by legislators
for a routine seizure and search

Police brutality couldn't mask the depravity
of their warrants nomenclature
Capitalist crusaders terrorize Americans,
but can't keep the bugs
from their Earth inheritance

Men will shroud their evil nature
Malicious intent hides below the glacier
Camouflaged vindictive behavior
is electing dictators across the equator

Truth serenaders lobby for
congressional persuaders
to pardon these murderous
capitalist crusaders,
fitting agendas with tailor made suits,
who infect Mother Earth deep in her roots

Antibiotics couldn't heal or stop this
infection these players gave her
Pray for fire and fury
to burn away worry
when bugs surely crawl from the dirt
to inherit what's left of our Mother Earth

Who are you to tell me
what I can write about?
If my soul needs to shout,
it will do just that.
Try to get a life, and stop
reading my poetry.
You weren't supportive
of it when we were
together, don't criticize it
while we are apart.
If you really want to read
something, try the
first amendment.
I just had a friend die,
and you haven't asked once
how I'm doing.
I've found rabid raccoons
kinder than you.