These poems ****,
I tell myself.
I follow a formula,
But it comes out tight.
I do it on my own,
It sounds too loose.
It’s loose in a sense,
That it came right from my flow of thoughts.
Off balance and perhaps preachy.
Maybe even redundant and bland.
Did that really come from me?
Where is this coming from?
WHO AM I!?
HOLY CHRISTMAS TREE!
Those words that I typed on my iTouch,
At midnight before a day of classes.
Please, just go to sleep already,
Jesus freaking Christ sitting with the Buddha in heaven,
GO TO SLEEP.

At night time my brain,
is in an endless loop.
From movies to cartoons,
Music videos and comedy.
Fragments of the unwanted
emotions of embarrassment.
Friends who have forgotten me,
And people I wish I knew.
And under these blankets,
I dream of another me,
One that can’t talk,
And one that speaks the brutal truth,
Who has all the power of the universe,
To bring her own self down.

And sometimes I look down
At the floor while you talk.
They scare me sometimes
The words that come out of you
Slow and slick,
Filled with a generic substance,
They’re not even coherent.
Forming erratic sentences,
Like the paths that you follow.
Like the friendships you break.
The girls you meet, the family you love.
And the movies that you watch.
I worry about you. Honestly.
Like the words I type on this keyboard.