Just like a shirt cannot
hide the hurt
or a headache
beneath a hat

nor a heartache in a suit
or cold feet in a boot
or glove for a trembling hand
neither a thought I think
could be bound
by a headband

You may appear
cool, calm and collected
but make-up and costume
cannot hide the bleeding
of a wound thats infected

Why do people play with big words?
Is a poet to impress or express?
As for me,
I’ve carried too heavy a load to care
I just want to share

It’s ok to be harmlessly pretentious
give your ideas and life some credit
& venerate your ideas with research
don’t browbeat others with negativity
or a misjudged sense of intellectuality
but don’t be afraid to aim for lofty ideas
perhaps ideas that are hard to fully grasp
even seemingly beyond your comprehension
the most interesting ideas usually work that way
immerse yourself in the terminology of your interest
until you can understand the language of their glossary
eventually writing new sentences that become paragraphs
until what seemed like a pretense becomes the present tense.

My little friend is now gone
My tragic life must go on; despite that
His evil eyes and his cheeky smile still burn in my mind
He no longer exists except
For my memory of him
And I rejoiced
When I heard the news
Still I can recall how I sobbed
When he gave me his evil eye for the first time
When he hurled glass and other projectiles at me when he was hungry
When he spent hours upon hours pondering the fabric of society
I hated him
I wished
For his death
I was depressed
It was like paint peeling off a wall
It was like finding a dead leprechaun at the end of a rainbow
I was expecting some sort of remorse when he left
Funny how heartbreak works

Now read this in reverse
Because sometimes all you need
Is a little change of perspective
To truly understand someone

In my youth
I pretended to be
what I thought others’ thought
was prideworthy and praiseworthy,
and I was unjoyful and unhappy
self-annihilating my authentic self.

Now I am older
and I realise
only by being my authentic self
and striving for joy and happiness
using my authentic self
can I be joyful and happy.

I like to think I'm bright sometimes,
mindlessly warbling my words.
Dropping subtle reference to
the allegory of the cave,
the 101 of a white guy.

I have a confession to make.
I'm a liar, a ****** fool.
There is nothing academic
in my bones, just spit and hot air.
Perhaps once these words had meaning,
but for now it's merely static.