Daily, I work so hard
To be straight,
Perfect.
To need not.
But daily, I am reminded
Of how crooked I am;
Abundantly needy.

What happens after
success; the things you've
been hoping for,
working towards,
what happens then?

My words may not be beautiful.
My words may not be sweet.

At times I cry because the words I write and type are not the same words I speak in reality.

When anger, guilt or sadness comes over me, I do not want to be well- spoken.

I want to be well heard without having to repeat myself.

Character development.
Let's call it development.

Deep breaths

*

It is all character development.

I brought  a car
Without
Any wheels
I got it cheap
A ******
Good deal.
I got inside
To drive it away
Why do they
Let me out
On Saturdays .
I brought a hippo
And named it Fred
It went to sleep
And broke the bed
My mate Doc,
Thinks I am sick
In the head
I just thought
I was easily led.

Pacing through the breaths of must
I listen to some stones.
Stones of stone forever crushed
sound soft of softer bones.

A learned Roman walked this way
with stoic pagan gait.
Reflecting on his world once great
which late, had gone astray.

Words but words
when thoughts have turned
yet silent stones still speak.

Of seeming sameness
was, was not
cannot
should never be.

When I was
younger,
I had to learn.
Sit and wait to
write.
I  would get
impatient and force it.
If you read it,
you could tell.

Now I’m quite a bit older, and
I quit trying.
Fodder seems to be
everywhere.
I can write about
the most mundane
things.

Today I’m at the
library waiting for my
girlfriend to
finish up at the dentist.
She’s getting her
teeth cleaned.
All my drinking ruined
my teeth.
When I got them
pulled a year ago,
there wasn’t a
healthy tooth in my head.
I have dentures now, so
I don’t have to
worry about how much I drink.
I know this isn’t a
good poem, but
hey,
there she is
all shiny and bright…
and sober.