At one point I couldn’t find love to purchase
I thought you ended those searches
but now I’m getting nervous
thinking I might be allergic
to your nature absurdist
and I can’t swerve this
feeling I’m worthless
stripped of all purpose
boils start to burn us.

I’ve got an eczema
sense of a
relationship
rashly lips
can’t kiss
who they wish.

I can’t leave the house
or your eczema breaks out
you scream and shout
and make me doubt
if your love is devout
when you treat me like trout.

Stress boils through my skin
after you tell me I win
and leave my house of sin
leaving a gift in
an itch
given by a witch
to make me twitch.

You’re the itch that rashes
causing unnecessary scratches
leaving a width of lashes
on my skin in patches
your personality matches
the blistering ashes
of my skin that detaches.

I keep itching
I keep scratching
to be switching
from your thrashing
into comfort
to numb hurt
of dumb words
creating thunder.

A doctor gave me a prescription
to avoid your dereliction
and feral diction.
He gave me an antidote
in a plan of hope
helping me cope
with saying nope.

The rash lingers
like poison fingers
choking me
woefully
draining life
like rain at night
I pray for light
and wait inside.

I found cortisone
in the form of a home
with a man
so I’m in demand
not your empty hand
red from the brand
of all the discomfort you withstand
now that you’re itching like sand
seeing I’m no longer ******.

I’m turning from Blanche DuBois into Chris Benoit
taking a streetcar named Desire to Monday Night Raw
after the oppression of the law got stuck in my craw
because the discretion of the flawed became the voice of God.

I’d always relied on the kindness of strangers
only to find the Million Dollar Man’s danger
directing the Army Rangers to Jesus’ manger
letting the Undertaker deal with the remainder.

I relinquished my rightful place
to the bank’s Crippler Crossface
taking everything until I lost grace
going into a holocaust craze.

I’m upset about the places I can’t go
because I’ll be ***** by Marlon Brando
when I ask the referee for a hand though
he just responds with a ****** no.

I have retired my display of Vivian Leigh
now Whatever by Our Lady Peace plays
as the Rabid Wolverine walks to the stage
to fight the Big Boss Man in a cage.

I gave up teaching class to my sister
to fight an *** who’s a mister
whose slaps can blister
so he blasts this spinster.

The law is a tougher opponent than Eddie Guerrero
so I apply my aptitude into becoming a pistolero
after getting jabbed by my French Quarter pharaohs
I can feel resistance down in my Marc Mero.

I start to take steroids
because there are boys
whose terror noise
impairs my poise.

I go all out performing flying headbutts
fighting until I see the dead’s guts
exterminating enemies like bed bugs
but then I start to dread hugs.

Now I assume a stranger’s spite
so I can immediately fight
I’m swallowed by night
wearing these tights.

In my rage I **** my wife and son
now my anger is no longer fun
even if it came from their gun
it’s me who’s the loneliest one.

I changed from a lady to a wrestler losing my ****** mind
fighting Mankind while stepping on landmines
until I can’t find any grand signs
and I’m anger defined.

Riots should be considered natural disasters
precipitated by injustice
especially when it’s police brutality
but much like global warming
America will ignore the natural disasters
for right wing interests
watching the storms sweep through routinely
pretending not to understand
until we’re swallowed by the maelstrom we’ve created.

The Christian imagination is captured
by the idea of the rapture
where Jesus comes to save us
like he shouldn’t just shame us
because no one is blameless
for this great mess.

It’s a dangerous mentality
to say our vitality
is based on morality
the rapture is that emphatically
where Jesus is battling
the forces of the ****** darkness
who are those I deem heartless.

The rapture can be Christian revenge ****
or their way of explaining this death storm
either way it prevents our best form
which is what Jesus was sent for
but now the student is the mentor
twisting words that meant more.

War is pushed to the side
it’s viewed as a sign
we’re living in the end times
like we’re in a hopeless ******
and tentacles just went by.

Nuclear proliferation
and global warming
bring them elation
for the rapture’s forming
so if the wars get gory
and match their prophetic story
they’ll practice diminished mourning.

God loves everyone individually
so it seems silly to me
what billions before us have seen
isn’t the same fate we’re deemed
why would we be
treated differently?

We must all walk through death’s door alone
I wish I could take everyone in my home
but that mentality is ******-suicide prone
yet when the comfort of company
becomes too much for me
I say quite lovingly
the rapture is coming
to drown out war drums drumming
I say the rapture is coming
to drown out more guns gunning
I say the rapture is coming
humanity’s mental growth is stunting
I say the rapture is coming.

Oh God, here they come
thirty to fifty wild boars
I’m quite stunned
so I slam the door
and look for my gun
which isn’t there anymore
the liberals took it away
not because of bullets sprayed on concert days
but to make me gay
which is why I hid my AK.

Thirty to fifty wild boars are attacking
while my children are in the yard
I can already see their bodies stacking
without an assault rifle to guard
so I find the weapon I’ve hidden
and say to the swine good riddance
the assault rifle made the difference
it’s not just a recreational interest.

Wild boars have only killed four people in US history
because they’ve been plotting
so to me it’s no mystery
these wild boars I’m spotting
Are terrorists
that share a fist
with liberal wrists
so I must defend my country
with assault rifle hunting.

These razorbacks
find ways to smack
those who firepower lack
leaving destruction in their tracks
their leader is wearing black
he’s the harbinger of doom
wielding a scythe
like a broom
to show me eternal night
in my tomb.

My armor piercing rounds
defeat the rotund hounds
their bodies fall to the ground
my family is safe and sound
but that’s not enough
my survival was luck
I go to the government for change
to get weapons in a deadlier range
because my assault rifle can **** thirty to fifty wild boars
but what if I’m attacked by thirty to fifty more?

They see me wearing skirts and stilettos
living my life in falsetto
which they claim a false meadow
and all call out hell no.

They call me godless
when I crossdress
in this frost mess
of lost guests.

They call me a queen
just to be mean
I am what they deem
what they instantly gleam.

Some don’t like what’s different
so the townspeople pick up their pitchforks
they want to diminish my imprint
I guess that’s what they call me a ***** for.

They despise the flamboyant game
coming from my derelict frame
they ask if I feel no shame
I ask them the same.

Every time I’m on the verge
of a dirge
they swerve
from my verve.

While I walk on the air
they watch and they stare
envy ensnared
jealousy scared.

I see myself as ethereal
and try to be pure
they see a disease venereal
in need of a cure.

They say men mustn’t be feminine
even if it is genuine
and there’s a place they’ll send you in
to die with the men who sin.

They order me to mask my grin
and act masculine
but I never asked to win
so I bask in sin.

I search for connection
turning in the direction
of those interested in my *******
not my introspection.

They’re so ******
they’re so catty
they’re just wishing
for a daddy.

The lo-fi
don’t know why
I go cry
and don’t pry.

Excruciating wonders
tear me asunder
until all of my plunder
is a magnanimous blunder.

My throat gets a mite coarse
from the blight force
of their high horse
on my white porch.

My tonsil gets scratchy sore
once they freeze my core
and I sing no more
exiting the door.

I can’t speak
let alone sing
my body is weak
and so are my wings.

They want me in their baritone
narrow home
where sparrows go
to carol no.

I see the slinking bass
ruining this stinking place
engendering a sinking face
whenever I get a thinking taste.

There’s a sharp staccato
in the places I will not go
where the race of evil taught notes
lower than my shipwrecked boat.

I go underwater like the Maldives
silently we all scream
living in our small dreams
rooting for our ball teams.

Once they see I’ve drowned
they hand me back my crown
and tell me not to look so down
after I’ve been gagged and bound.

I respond to their monotony
noddingly
plotting the
same odyssey.

I adopt the stature
of Margaret Thatcher
I’m the student’s master
like a brimstone pastor.

Now I sing as low as I can go
and my flow is extra slow
because I could never grow
living my life in falsetto.

I want to be part of society
I want to have proper propriety
but I feel woeful worry inside of me
in the form of anxiety.

What will they think?
What will they say?
Would they even blink
if I told them I’m gay?
Or would peace be betrayed
by the revelation I made?

My thoughts are hurried
because I’m too worried
they come in a flurry
vision obscuring.

It’s a slow grind
in this snowblind
I don’t know why
I can’t grow wise
so my nose finds
blow lines
until I glow like
a strobe light
turning on and off
like Jared Goff
because apparent cops
who share my slop
scare to stop
my stairs to the top
so I get impaired and flop.

The only person not allowing me
to share my personality
is myself acting cowardly
fearing they’ll respond sourly
I want someone to empower me
so I can conquer this task towering.