Treating something like **** doesn't mean it is,
but we never knew any better as kids.
Thought we were above the sheep.
Soon found ourselves in craters miles deep.
Was it fun enough to be worth the dive?
Should I not just be grateful to be alive?
The first answer is no, though I did have some fun.
The scars that come with that life,
I wish on no one.
The jury's still out on the second,
I have no answer.
But I'd rather die high as ****
than of cancer.

Don't forget to do your wakeup
It's just like doing your makeup
It covers the scars
And makes you feel like a star
Just hope when you fall you land face up

I reached into the bag and
pulled out what I got
They said I had to live with it
like it or not
It didn't seem fair
They insisted it was
Life is what your born
I asked why? Just because
So please go stand
in that line over there
A biped will approach you
pretending to care
At this point I tossed
my grab back towards the sack
Quipped I'll pass on the offer
and dove into the black

I will get nowhere faster than you
Just look at the yellow lights I'm blowing through
Yes, for a moment it seems you have the edge
But you drive with your heart instead of your head
I saw that no u-turn coming for miles
You cut me off, and I was all smiles
In reality we both have nowhere to get to
But I'm gonna get there faster than you

What the eff is up with this site?
Why is it most people on the front page can't write?
Folks just babble on and on...
Or spit out a two line poem
Which is fine if it's a two punch knockout
Instead of sounding like a grammar school dropout
And why do certain things get so many views?
I can't seem to get more than two
Post crap if you want, if that's what people write
But they should give everybody a chance on this site
So I don't write about flowers or blather on about paint
So I don't pretend to be something I ain't
We should all have a voice here, The good and the bad
The silly, the happy, the lost and the sad
So come on hellopetry, give gutter poets a try
If you'd rise just a bit, we could meet eye to eye.

I wish I could write a great piece and then chill for a few

Instead of scrounging each day to create something new

Every poem I write literally makes me jones for more

Is it the poet or the addict in me?
I really can't be sure

Imagine being a poet with nothing to say.
Vacant eyes fixed on your screen all day.
If a lost soul reaches out, you slap them away.
You pretend to be a poet, but you've got nothing to say.

In idle hours of the night
Chains of worry wrap me tight
Only in sleep is there relief
But like all moments it is brief
Dawn unveils to reveal
What wasted hours never heal

I tried
I'm spent
I give up
I relent

I quit
I'll just stop
I can't stand
I just flop

I'm broke
I'm a mess
I've no *****
I regress

I've failed
I won't fight
I'm lost
I can't write

Unable to connect to others, I feel I'm always peering in
With envious eyes, I observe their lives, and wonder when mine will begin
The insidious illness that creeps into my soul, isn't easily diagnosed
It's hard to explain, to a real living being, what it's like to be a ghost
The doctors check my vitals and say "Umm, you look just fine"
If only that blood pressure cuff could read my ******-up mind
All the pills in the world don't seem to help, and instead just make it worse
I wish I could feel, something that's real, besides my mother's curse
Unable to relate to others, I feel I'm always on the outside
So I breathe on the glass and use my bony hand to scribble,
I am alive

It's true I could never

forget you

That doesn't mean I could ever

forgive you

Blonde in a red Corvette, free as a bird
Me, just a child, staring at her
Remember thinking, that's where I'm gonna be
In a red Corvette, at 33
No kids, no baggage, not even a dog
Stomp on the gas, and simply take off
No limits, no signs, just a juicy sunset
The wind in my hair, not an ounce of regret
She never saw me, but I'll never forget
The phoenix who flew past me, in a red Corvette

A star up and dies
The universe sheds a tear
Particles fly everywhere
The Milky Way collapses
Half of infinity is gone
The Sun tilts on her axis
The Moon knows something's wrong
Oceans begin swelling
Water devours the land
Earth hasn't been this bedraggled
since life first began
Gravity forsakes her
Grounds fall to the sky
A celestial teardrop's ruthless goodbye

All around your blueberry porsche
I saw a bunch of people
And oh, the fun you were having of course
****! What a weasel

I have to get to the Moon, just to clean the bathroom
I'll give Mount Everest a nudge on my way back

In prison, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are birthday cake,
and ramen noodles a succulent meal.
In prison, everyone's given shower shoes,
but pillows you have to steal.

In prison, the "beds" are worse than the floor,
the "blankets" giant SOS pads.
In prison, lice goes around like soup du jour,
and **** talk spreads like mad.

In prison, all you see is gray,
color only lives on your screen.
Now you're picturing us watching a 60-inch all day,
but it's only 13 by 13.

In prison, there's no such thing as steak, there's no such thing as meat.
Almost everything that resembles either is fake.
Real milk would be a real treat.

In prison, you still need money,
or you go to bed hungry each night.
It's seriously not funny.
Three small "meals"a day  
isn't right.

In prison, if you don't lock it down, another con will steal it.
There's more than enough desperation to go around,
and everyone can feel it.

In prison I was years ago.
I'm a different person today.
But the shame felt from being forced to bend over, spread my legs, and cough,
well that's never gone away.

I want to go to my grave unafraid,
at peace with choices I've made
I want to go to my deathbed
not regretting every word I said that day, with clouds in my eyes and raindrops on your face
If it comes down to forgive or never live, I'm unafraid
Because I can do both today
I will do both today

I don't like my skin today
It doesn't fit me right
It's loose in the wrong places
Where I need room, it's too tight
The color doesn't match my mood
I don't appear slate gray
I think I might go back to bed
I hate my skin today

I'm just scribbling in the wind
Babbling to dead trees
I wonder why I even begin
painting portraits no one sees

I'm just spitting into a void
Barely whispering from a well
I wonder if anyone hears my voice
It's becoming hard to tell

I try to write from different perspectives
Think outside of my box and be more objective
Give every style of writing a chance
Be open to learning an alien dance
I appreciate effort and creativity
Even if it's subjects that for me don't come easily
I try to write and read from different perspectives
But one thing remains constant
I feel rejected

Zeus demands some soup
But the Big Dipper's broken
Seems some stars escaped

The sky's blinding us
Only her eye offers sight
But for now it's shut

We witnessed cataclysmic events not take place, and instead accepted little increments of ****.
That's what life is.
Little increments of ****. Sometimes it's decent ****.
Most often it *****.
But it's always little ****, and it always adds up.