I’m no longer a resident
Of self-pity City
And I most certainly
Am not the mayor
I’ve given up crying
And eighty sixed whining
“It’s just not fair!”

Now I don’t ask “Why me, God?”
I realized I was wishing another
Poor somebody suffered my fate.
Who? My sister, father, mother?
When did I gain so much clout
That I deserve a better fate
That moves me up so high
And makes the rest second rate?

I’m no longer a resident
Of self-pity City
And I most certainly
Am not the mayor
I’ve given up crying
And eighty sixed whining
“It’s just not fair!”

I had to take stock of life
And realize I have what I need.
Anything else is at least excess
But even more likely it’s greed.
I was looking around to see
What my neighbors had got
And running to my toy box
Moaning of what I had not.

Did I look around me and see
The many who had so little?
Not a crust of bread or a home
Where they could sit and whittle?
So many had no toys at all
They were grateful for a bed;
A place where they could be safe
When they lay down their head.

I’m no longer a resident
Of self-pity City
And I most certainly
Am not the mayor
I’ve given up crying
And eighty sixed whining
“It’s just not fair!”

Finally I awoke and saw the truth,
How much I need to be grateful for;
For breathing and resting and joy
A roof, for walls and a floor.
And a place to call my own home
When so many don’t have one.
The day I counted my blessings
Was when a good life was begun.

I’m no longer a resident
Of self-pity City
And I most certainly
Am not the mayor
I’ve given up crying
And eighty sixed whining
“It’s just not fair!”

I tried to write a poem
to get the feelings out.
They said poetry
Went with angst
Almost as well as
Sylvia Plath
and-
Repetition.

But I wrote a poem
And another
And another
And another.

And they felt wrong
And got shorter and shorter
And less and less creative
And didn’t look much like art

Painting is art
Sculpture is art
Music is art.
Whining isn’t.

That’s the thing
With poetry;
It’s art
Or it’s nothing

And I seemed like a nothing
And I must have felt nothing
Because nothing was on the page
And I had nothing left to add

Because “Why do good people die?”
Is trite
And “Is war such a good idea?”
Has been done
by the Beatles.
“I can’t stop crying”
Mostly rings true for babies
And they rarely
If ever
Read poems.

So I had only one word
That could sum up the tight
and the hurt
and the lost
And a word’s not a poem
At all-
is it?

I wish I were eloquent
I wish it were pretty
I wish my hands
could heal you
And my voice
could soothe you
And my laugh
infect you
And my heart
reach you
My words
touch you
My arms
hold you
and
fix
you
but
all
I
have
is
“you."

I experienced a miracle tonight
You'd probably laugh
If I tell you exactly what I mean by miracle so I wont
But I found it, alone and forgotten
In the corner of the room

I say miracle because it came to me
In my time of need, sleep wouldn't come
I was up thinking of what I should've said
What I could possibly say to you tomorrow
Trying in vain to lose this desperate feeling
So scoff as you might, a miracle
Happened here tonight, a gift
From the **** gods

I know, I know, it was just a gift
From one of my stoner friends
But it was a everything to me, so
I went to my room, put on some music
And prepared to write you this
To somehow help me say what I need to say
And when my phone sang of death
As I so often like to do, I saw your face
And I was terrified

You made me feel something I haven't felt in ages

I hate spending time worrying about what-ifs
I try to focus on only what I know
What if I left the stove on and the house burnt down?
What if I just can't pay my bills and have to live with my parents?
What if Christians are right about God and I'm going to Hell?
What if somewhere it rained apple juice and chocolate covered raisins?
You get it, the list goes on forever

But... what if you loved me
What then?
I believe in a lot of things
People meet for a reason
Rarely yeah, but sometimes
And I haven't figured out
If I met you for a reason yet
So for that instant
As I considered myself at the end of things
Instead of being at peace
I was absolutely petrified
Of never finding out

What if I loved you?
What if you were the final piece of this puzzle?
Like I said, I believe in a lot of things
Miracles being one of them
Yeah, it may be a shallow excuse for a so called act of God
But look, it helped this all come pouring out
It made me think of you

If only I had a machine or crystal ball
Or an app on this stupid smart phone
To show me all of the ******* possibilities...
Scratch that, I already know
It'd probably show you in my arms
As we rest in the shade of a blossoming cherry tree
Show me sleeping with my ear over your heart
Soothed by the symphony of the blood in your veins
Show us everything we've ever hoped to find
And if the weight of my own loneliness
Fails to grind my backbone into dust
It will be a miracle

Oh, miracles...
Life is the biggest one that I know of
Our existence itself the greatest gift of all
It's sad how it's usually only appreciated
In the face of its own ending
Or in the faces of the ones
Who flash before your eyes in that moment
Like yours, and I don't even know you yet
Who's to say that I ever will
So what the **** does this mean?

Now I can't help but ask myself
Do I really believe in all that ******* I say?
That death is not an abyss, I am the Universe
So even if I was truly dying, take comfort
Embrace it, all life must end someday
And when my time is up, I will finally know you
As if I always have, as if we were
Never apart in the first place

Now those ******* questions
That can't be answered
Have me staying up to ask
The moon, the stars
In vain

What if there is only darkness after death?
What if this life is my only chance to know love?
What if all the nights such as this mean nothing at all?

The worst part of this whole thing is
That I might never find out.

There’s a time and season for every reason
no cookie bakes itself
cherries don’t burst on their own
cherries don’t burst *******!
a bottle doesn’t empty itself to full/fill
breaking clocks is a wonderful way to **** time
ironic glory hole of blood and glass
running out of test tubes, the ****’s too tight
****… reason!
INVEST!

Admiration is the state furthest away from understanding
pawns don’t need details
******* with teeth make ******* meaningful
smashing the cow softens it, …digest it well
meaning is derived from screening STD g string
of a starry eyed jail-bait that drowns in a sea of ******
obtuse and absolute are the only submissions
failure to comprehend results in *******
cuckolds worth….
IMPROVE!

Lexicon laxative
this antipathy won’t last
stimulate thinking with cankerous drinking
***** ***** need no season or reason
to drown ****** who never show
the tears of heaven that understood
misled admiration and adolescent aberration
that silently candle deplorable fornication
time stays unchanged
counting doesn’t prove progress in this game
falling short… half beat hesitation
ITERATE!