This spiteful poem has no title.
That doesn't mean it's not entitled to a title
it just means, it hasn't got one.
It's not in any way vital to title
a poem is it?
Without a title, would a rival thieve
the poem?
Without a title, it means there is no
subject matter. Does that matter?
I guess at a recital a title helps,
it introduces the poem to an audience.
Let's face it, the poem is not going to get
suicidal if I don't give it a title!
It's not going to go all homicidal, suicidal,
or self harm.
Will it sue me for libel?
Am I being frightful?
I think it's delightful that this poem
has no title.
Maybe, what I should have titled this poem, was
"Poet being idle".

*******.
******* for being so far away
******* for making me want you
I can say it certainly is not fair,
What is this, the ******* teacup ride?
I always hated the fair.
Fishing for plastic ducks and shooting impossible targets
Seems like a setup for failure to me.
******* for making me take a look at myself in the mirror
And for making me ask questions
For making me lie
And for making me tell the truth.
Why can't things be easy?
Oh yeah, that's just not how it works around here.
******* for making my imagination run wild.
For casting yourself in the movies my brain constantly films
And ******* for getting the cinematography just right.
I can't look away.
******* because all I have is my imagination.
I can make you whomever I want you to be.
******* for curling your hair and for having those lips
And for being comfortable with yourself around me
**** your small wrists and your quirky characteristics
Your eyeliner and your fingernails
**** your sparkling smile and your hips
And ******* for making me want you so bad.

**** me.
**** me for yearning.
**** me for learning
That it's not that simple,
That nothing is set in stone,
That people are confusing as hell.
**** me for taking the time to write this poem
**** how angry it's making me
And **** the fact that I'm writing it because of you.

There are lots of young kids
Lined up in rows
And told what to be
And to avoid the lows
But there's one who is different
Who doesn't conform
He can't seem to fit in
To what is the norm

Wearing shorts on his head
"You're a ******" they said
But he knew more
So he had to ignore
As he grew up
With no friends to say 'sup
He felt so alone
While the other kids played
He always stayed home
And dreamed of a change

Then one day next door
A neighbor moved in
He greeted hello
And she returned a grin

She didn't follow a single trend
And proved everyone can find a friend