i turn the sound of the shattering into a punchline
and the laughter almost burns the room down.
and it feels almost like a promise.
(of what, i do not want to know.
i do not want to say.)

and the truth of it is
sometimes it truly is just a joke, a skin-deep wound, no one's loss;
other times
(most times)
the hurt scrapes against my bones,
and the promise echoes just as the laughter ends,
(sputters into a silence more deafening than the uproar)
as they leave the room,
as i am left alone.

i ride through the breakdown and become too lost to rebuild,

much less to rebuild alone.

"Always remember in a **** measuring contest the only people satisfied by the outcome are the two men playing with their *****."

I am a ******* mailbox.
Why?
I dunno.
Because i said so.
Accept me for who i am.
My metal *** and face.
My four little legs
And a drawr that holds youryour buisness.
I am a ******* mailbox
Accept  me,
My rusted edges
My sad blue paint.
Unfortunate that  i do not  have a red flag.
****
Well
Thank my creater,
the mailman
I am a ******* mailbox.
And i am
**** proud
To be one

... and this one isn't.


They were going to start a new life,
childhood sweethearts become man and wife.
But a drunken stag-night
ended up in a fight,
and someone had taken a knife.

(Or, It takes all sorts to make a world)

About half the world is female, while the rest of us are male,
and some of us are rather young, while others are quite a bit older.
Some people are emotional, and wear their heart on their sleeve,
and others, from the outside, may appear to be rather colder.
Some writers are extremely careful to obey all the rules,
while others in their attitude are very much bolder.
Some may be quite tolerant and easy-going,
but others seem to have some kind of chip on their shoulder.
In fact, from what I have observed over the years,
in some cases it's not so much a chip as a boulder.

Oh yes. By the way, please write this down
and store it very carefully in your poetry folder —
It is most definitely not a definition of "well-balanced"
if you are carrying a chip on both the left and the right shoulder.

A funny little word
Made up when I was hurt
Mesmerised
By the skies
I thought "what the **** is murderize?"

I say it to my friends
A humorous little joke
"I'll murderize your family
And on my **** they will choke."

They laugh and sputter
I guess I'm that amusing
Even when I joke about
Killing and abusing

They know I don't mean it
That I'm just *******
So if I say it to you
Know it don't mean ****

there is a certainty inside your eyes
that makes me want to buy a canvas
and just write every single detail
of happiness you brought for me
until the white paper becomes black
cause I spill all the ink on earth
about the way you kiss me every 5 mins
the way you lose control like a kid
the way you smell like sugar rush
the way your joke hurts my belly
and the way you are
perfectly
fits me

Head and Shoulders, knees and toes

That's the way the story goes

Here is something no one knows

To lepers...it's important

It's the inventory song

You may think that this is wrong

Put me back where I belong

But, lepers need to do this

Count your digits 'fore you leave

It's a fact you must believe

They're not out for to deceive

They need to inventory

If they count and all is there

They face the world without a care

They lose their parts, but not their hair

Their day will be successful

Head and Shoulders, Knees and toes

That's the way the old song goes

I've got four fingers and six toes

I guess I'll put some gloves on

The inventory song is neat

It teaches them, they need two feet

Or they can't walk down the street

It really is important

Gripping things is kind of tough

When digits...you've not enough

You know your fingers' with your stuff

You'll go and find it later

So, if you think that  this is wrong

And you do not like this song

Put me back where I belong

I think this song's a service

Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes

I've a friend with half a nose

Now you know what no one knows

Inventory is required.
.