I wear my heart on my sleeve,
My soul on my soles.
Every time I breathe
Cool air blows through the holes in my clothes.

we can't comment
on my poems
we think
they
might get sad

now you
have
made
me mad

me
mad

whee
where
is my
spears
we must ****
that stench
here
hold my nostrils
while we wonder why
?


























...
..
.

I think,
There are people in your life that are so big, they take up space in your body.

Eventually,
You become a tangled mess- an amalgamation of pieces of you and them.

Then,
When they leave, they take those pieces with them.

Suddenly,
You are empty, there is a hole in the place they once existed.

And,
You can  never truly be full again, the space they took up was far to big.

i barely get ma palm pilot sized
   dear derriere i.e. gluteus maximus in the air
just a cat whisker across the DeMilitarized Zone
  (DMZ in military parlance),

   when the Earth shuddered from blare
ring fusillade expressed detonation
   issued by Kim Jung Un,
   whose craven dark excitement clear

motive predicated
   to lob Holiday nuclear missiles,
   and South Koreans (no matter
   mostly innocent victims), whelp hay dear

for siding, identifying, fraternizing, colluding,
   et cetera with the enemy (in general,
   the NATO bound countries) 'ere
really quiet, as preparation (H) gets made

   to bring out the big guns
   (actually shaped like a fleshy
   posterior man bun) in truth one
   dead reckoning sphincter muscle

   that doth flair
impossible to espy, cuz sieve
   all the flak whistling induce sing a glare,
but...the Hermit Kingdom got another

   bad a$$ bombardier deathly, stealthily quiet,
   hence released **** Jed
  eye ordnance impossible to hear
yet this silent deadly *** sass sin hated

   hard as a ribbed rock stainless steel
   guaranteed to wreak havoc, with loathing
   and other emotions hints sin sere
which top secret (never bottomed out

   during test practice trials,
   whereat Johnny spot on)
   proved to vaporize underwear
and caused a "big stink"
   that lasted about one year.

what information divulged
   ye moost promise never to share
else...any turn coats
   can not muster posterior haste,

   yet will need to seek out specialty
   of proctologist who doth rear
lee **** seed unfortunate victim
   blind sided immune to any prayer

so...upon confiding this tidbit,
   I strongly advise tubby not near
as you might already correctly guess,
   when while mooning Pyongyang

well taut smart cheeks,
   with blasting buttocks akin to
   young Frankenstein blazing saddles
as sole oozing gaseous
   flatulence majority

   of North Koreans will not here
amidst din and clangor "bad medicine"
   propelled ****** bowel
   movement game changer

   will hit designated target precisely clear
t'will invite "freedom fighters"
   tubby regaling with a jubilant aire
total mortal Kombat levels threat of "Fat Boy",

whose po' country mutilated,
   reduced, wasted to ashes after
   every nuclear and
   traditional military contrivance,
  an IC a BM (mine) did destroy.

I'm full of holes.
You'll try to love me, everyone does.
They try to love me in so many ways.
They think that they can hold me and wrap me up and cover what's clearly missing.
They think that they can look past any gaps I have and focus on the parts of me that are complete and just never look elsewhere.
They think that they can fill the cavities with trinkets and treasures and gestures and words, words that turn out to be just as empty as I am.
They think that they can accept them and love them for what they are and I thought I could too.
But the reality is, they are holes and there just isn't anything there to love.
So no matter how much you want to love me, I will never be able to support you because I am brittle and incomplete. I will always leave people with the feeling that something is missing.
That thing that is missing is me.