Often I'll wake in my slumber,
To a melody seeping through the window.
It's sung by the stars,
They beckon me from my soft bed,
To the chill of night.
I listen, for if I were not to dance to their music,
Their art would be at a waste.

I write music in the record store,
I'll use their piano to pen the tune.
They won't find me,
I'm good at hiding,
So someday my record will be sold there.

We kiss in the record store,
To the sound of men making music.
They won't find us,
We're good at quiet love,
So someday we'll kiss to the men playing my record.

I'll pen a hundred poems,
But it doesn't matter,
If you don't read 'em.

You're my best critique,
I need you in and around my art,
Please keep reading?

To be a poet,
Is to constantly battle your greatest enemy,
Yourself.
If your mind is not your greatest adversary,
You'll never feel freedom in what you write,
Because if you didn't battle for the thought,
You didn't win it's right.

I'm a rap addict,
I breathe beats,
I crave rhyme,
I like when the track,
Tastes like lemon lime,
How many kinds of music,
Keep making you come back?
Not enough,
Shout out to hip-hop,
Call out to rap.

There’s an old joke, “Procrastinate NOW, because
the sooner you fall behind, the longer you’ll have to catch up.”
Ha ha.

While a lot of students around here, even the good ones,  
are procrastinators, I’m a diagnosed pre-crastinator.
I obsess over syllabuses and start things immediately.
I've got rough drafts of things due three months from now.
I’m a planner. Leisure time makes me itch.

I say that to say this, I’m reaping my rewards.
There’s a palpable layer of fret in the air.
Everyone's (the seniors) talking about their theses,
and how they need to start it—first thing yesterday.
I just listen, playing Flappy Bird on my phone, because I’m done.

When my professor handed my thesis paper back the other day,
he said, “This is good.” At first, I was delighted, quietly rocking it inside.
Then I floundered, becoming somewhat indignant. Why’d he sound surprised? Because I handed it in a little (80 days) early?
But soon enough, I was back to happiness.
I’ll have to defend it one day, but I’ll go first, wait and see.

Shall we wax poetic?

I’m like the sea, always restless
and I enjoy the flavor of honest effort.
I dub snark, and the little, jealous glances,
I blunt them with chey smiles, while thinking,
‘I’ll row my boat, and you row yours—just a little slower.’

Let them whisper me freakish
though I win a thousand crowns,
the real pleasure lies in my gun slinger’s sang-froid,
to finish the commission first and be the best.
.
.
Songs for this:
Let Me Down Easy by Gang of Youths
Let Me Go by CAKE

Lost was I,
In the dark streets,
Of this winding city.
Looking over my shoulder,
Searching for landmarks,
Any building I knew.
I was approached by a man,
And I raised my defenses,
But his light demeanor calmed my anxiety.
He spoke to me,
A melodic tune in his voice,
'They call me happiness,
I see you're lost in the dark,
Come with me and let me show you,
Everything you're missing.'

~
Maternal midnight

Metallic lakeside

Freon heart, fayence mind

Eyelids of iron ore

Influence feet into the water

Into an embargo bay

Clear and innocuous, innocuously blind

Hills like white elephants on a polar plateau

Mosquitos on her mouth

Drink the blood of encryption

Change the tone of her voice

They pass behind the blue vein

Become infinite particles of her
~