Saw you on the street tonight,
you were walking my way.

You were with Arnie,
I knelt down to play.

You tried to pull him away from me,
Like I was a stranger passing by.

The excitement in his little body, made me want to cry.

I asked you if you weren't going to stop,
You gave in and paused.

I got dirt all over my face, from his little paws.

Everyone thinks their dog is special,
But Arnie actually is.

He has a lightness about him that makes you forget the world isn't sheer bliss.

You looked at me with such disgust and asked me how I was. Hoping it was bad.

I said I was good and asked you the same.

You said
GREAT!
FANTASTIC!
COULDN'T BE BETTER!
I LOVE MY JOB!
I GOT A RAISE!
I'M SEEING SOMEONE NEW!

I said that's great and i'm happy for you.

You pulled him away from me soon after that.

Our little puppy grown up. He wasn't coming back.

I hope you know i'm actually happy for you,
if any of what you said is true.

I wish no ill intent on you.

My only upset is for the girl who comes next,
and the coldness she will one day receive.

I gave parts of myself to you I have never given to anyone.
We shared a dog, a home, a life, for over a year together.

Yet, you act like i'm a stranger on the street.

I get it. We all get mad and say things we shouldn't in fights.

But it has been a month since you've seen me or talked.
So how can hate be the first reaction in sight?

The lack of kindness in your eyes was inhumane.

You are a soul sucker who has moved onto his next victim.
Tossing losses to the side.

You said I was dead to you.
Guess what ******.

I'm Not.

I'm a sucker for a deadly demise and heartbroken eyes.

I'm such a sucker for
over explanatory wordy titles
there's no fall out.

I saw this world as a beautiful place,
one that welcomes me everyday,
but apparently that's not the case,
cause nobody will ever have their say.
Parents, oh no, not those terms,
because it definitely does not suit them,
instead they abuse and neglect,
to their child they'll only wreck.
Let's not forget those childish harassment,
that people in general gives to others,
also the society with errors of judgement,
which lead to many trails of ashes.
And just as I remembered what I've left out,
is the ******* of what we named 'grown-ups',
their conservative talks that they shout,
shutting out imperfect ones that drowns in tubs.
Humanity? What loads of *******,
naming beings that they refuse to acknowledge 'monster',
how ironic and may I say snobbish?
when beings of their own kind they will slaughter.
Rejecting, exterminating, stigmatizing and resenting,
huh, monster, they say.
Heading next to the well-known bully,
this cycle will never ever cease to exist,
cause for generations it will always sully,
this immature charade that'll seem to persist.
And you ask for me to be positive,
when I live in this world filled with negatives,
it's fine if you wanna be all judgemental,
cause I'll say you're obviously mental.

The first kid was a rat. Oh he was so crude and mean. He said:
"Make her eat that!" and pointed to dirt-drenched, ice cream.
The second kid was a sucker for shows. He laughed and such a stupid pose.
But girls have power too ya know.
Girls tend to be smart, and...oh no...
She scooped the food, tears down her eyes, bidding her last goodbyes. Up it went, leaving no traces....

Up to the sky! "Wham!" Into their faces. She laughed and ran on full speed. Jumped a bush and climbed a tree.

"She's like a squirrel!" The first boy yelled.
"Well get up there and push her down!"

The second boy was looking high.
The girl giggled and mocked "So boys do cry."
The second boy ran off, and chickened out.
The first boy said," I can get you no doubt!"
He hopped and hopped and grasped the first branch, then he swung and swung, but couldn't touch the next.
While he struggled so hard the girl, quietly climbed down.
He'd never figure, she was on the other side, on the ground.
She slowly tipped away and went on, back home.
The boys best learn their lessons, and leave this girl **alone

You're sitting across a table, in the next room- and it's the month of July.
                                                                                 And as the beads of sweat chip off your forehead
                                                                                                              like a shank of butcher's meat,
                                                                                                                        your dorcel fin peaks                                                                                                         through the sand where my toes peak                                                                       through. The picnic table where I write letters; post cards.
                                                                                                   I take photos, make reservations, and
                                                                                       even after I'm canceled on for walking around
                                                              downtown in my bright neon-pink underwear, I still roll to the
              left side of the bed sit up and drop the cigarette I fell asleep on. You're just sitting, first entry:                                                                                                                                                 Stardom.

                                                                                                I don't have room for you in the corners.

                                                                                                The corners of this room, padded walls,
                                                                                           shifty vaseline sway- the white cotton stick
                                               of a sucker pointing out of your mouth, its red numero forty dye shines
                                                                                                                in the specks of light flicking
                                                                                                  out of the horizon like a carousel ride
                                                                                                                              around and around.

                                                                                        I'm getting a bit dizzy, and even less honest.

                                                                                                                 If you want to see me spring,
                                   like the silly string on my birthday, yellow silly-putty; molding the monster face,
                                                                                                     I observe you through a kaleidoscope                                                                                                                   of dexedrine and morphine.
                                                                                              Your catastrophe with Xanax, passed out
                                                            in alien-green *******, at that party in the abandoned firehouse
                                                                            on News St., how you could lay trust on me after that

                                                                                                (a daydream with sawing you called me)

                                                                                             sixteen-year-old mishap of an afternoon.
                                                                                            &