I have some bad news baby.
Writing in pencil wears thin
And a pen will just smear the words away.
You're angry and hurt.
Voices linger in their echos and your screams can't find a way to drown them out,
But shouting at an astroid won't make it turn tail and flee, so put on your gloves and grab something sharp.
The throats you may have to slit are only there to reload another round of insults.

Keep it up baby, get in my room and slide your dress off. Lets put that anger to some good use.

I was sitting on a train with my pad and a pen, trying to write a poem. I had no title, but I had written down the first line

...I was sitting on a train with my pad...

A man sat opposite me.
After a minute or so of scanning his paper and throwing cursory looks in my direction
he enquiried "What are you writing?"

"I'm trying to write a poem about a man trying to write a poem on a train
who gets asked by a stranger 'what are you writing'.

"Can I be in it?", asked the stranger opposite.

"You already are", I replied.

The train pulled out of the station.

Tonight’s the night
when your throat swells tight,
your breath falls short,
your costumes don’t fit right.

Tonight’s the night
friends will surely mock,
your hair’s utter chaos,
your knees nervously knock.

Quality is demanded,
perfection from each night;
it’s subtly commanded;
it solicits stage fright.

Hiding from view
behind glamour and grace,
lingers that time-tried spew:
“Get those nerves off your face!”

From backstage, a call:
“Everyone take your place!”
You’re not ready at all!
Just breathe, steady pace.

Silently whispered lines
across a tongue of cotton,
but then the spotlight shines!
And all these worries, forgotten.

Because tonight’s the night
when your smile will glow,
your beauty stun
and passion show.

Tonight’s the night
you’ll become like a star,
Creator-made,
perfect just as you are.

Nothing else compares,
not applause, not stares,
when you dance for your Savior,
who loves you, who cares.

Tonight’s the night
audiences will applaud,
but you know what they don’t:
it’s not you, but God.

I drink red bull and orange juice with a splash ***.
Then I play screamo speeding down the highway
getting ready to topple kings.
I am the kind of guy that smokes cigars in the shower then dances his way to the kitchen to make a peanut butter and jelly.
If there was in an absolute zero in the amount of ***** a human being can give, I wouldn't even try to calculate it because that will prove my point.
I watched a woman get punched in the face by another woman over a ******* blender and I watched a poor man give a dollar out of a broken wallet to a charity.
These things seem to not make sense to some
To me it does.
You think the world is mostly bad?
You think the world is mostly good?
You're wrong.
You are all wrong.
Speaking in absolutes will put you in the same place as the tyrant that you are constantly ******* about.
If you want to save the world, there will always be people trying to stop you.
If you want to destroy the world, there will always be people trying to stop you.
I am the man in the background eating popcorn and getting miffed because my soda is almost empty and I might have to get a refill.
These are the kings I topple.


YOU
ARE
THE
KINGS
I
TOPPLE

For the love of god shut the hell up and smoke a cigar in the shower.

She was the girl constantly being thrown lemons
Expected to make lemonade over and over, she did
Growing used to the sour taste of what she had come to know as her reality
A child’s innocence
She danced through thunderstorms
Twirling through the rain like she twirled through her life
Graceful leaps of laughter sending her in circles, growing dizzy
Only to find that by the time her dizziness had faded nothing was ever the same
Tangy lemonade had returned
Gulping it down along with her insecurities, she kept dancing but the bitter sense of having to grow up so fast hit her like a bolt of lightning she had once danced upon
And finally the thunderstorms grew too strong for her
The downpour that once sent her soaring soaked into her shoes
Damp and despair into her bones
Where once she would have floated over the world she dragged her feet to safety
She’d now watch the droplets of rain hit the window pain
Struggle after struggle
Lemon after lemon
She was left with nothing but the compromise of happiness
The acidity left her melting
Draining the juice from her slowly until she was just a little dusting of zest thrown on top of what used to be her childhood
Her days of dancing but a bare memory
And the girl she used to know had since disappeared
Lost hopes she tucked herself away
Her only idea of dreams locked away in her dream book next to her bed
Frantic scribbles on each page
She wrote her feelings as her old friend Thunder cracked over head
Her faint remembrance of happiness
But a sound
A raindrop
A window away
She blocked her ears now
Willing the constant bang of her Thunder to stop
Couldn’t it tell it only caused her more pain?
Persisting past her pleads; it rang out louder and louder
Taunting her
Haunting her
It yelled at her
And for the first time since the lemons had been thrown her way
She yelled back
Breaking that window open
Broken glass like all her old broken hopes hit the ground
She jumped outside
Enveloped by dazzling drops of clarity and surprise
For her shoes were no longer wet and her bones no longer heavy
And the weight of the storm no longer pinned her soul down
Her lost peace now found
She danced
A dance for all the dances she had forgotten
A dance that left the ground trembling and the skies flickering in her wake
This girl who had been thrown lemons without rest
Had figured out the answer to the test
Finally understanding that she was never too weak to conquer the storm
She was as strong and as fierce as the winds around her
As gentle as a raindrop hitting an eyelash but as grand as a flood covering land as far as the eye could see
No longer would she compromise her happiness
Her dreams
Herself
For now she knew that happiness was for her taking and hers alone
That girl now knew that the next time life through her a lemon
She’d throw it back
And yell
“I am no longer bitter lemonade”
“I am a thunderstorm”

For my best friend who is beautiful, smart and the strongest girl I know, even if she forgets it sometimes.

It's all about that
                                                                ­               Whump!
It shakes the chest so
hard you can't catch your
                                                            ­                    Whump!
breath
Yup, that's it I flew the nest
                                                            ­                    Whump!
Making my own plans but
I can't pull away from that
                                                            ­                    Whump!
I'm an alien on a spaceship
charging up that engine
                                                          ­                      Whump!
Steering straight toward that sound like
                                                            ­                    Whump!
I hunger for that sub noise
rumbling, I'm addicted to that
                                                            ­                     Whump!

Here I am again watching swirls in my cup o' noodles
figuring out ways to dip and skip through some loop holes
Cause I'm tired of jumping though hoops
to prove to people what I am or am not willing
to do
Roommate's in the kitchen making fish minus the bone
and I'm ******, wasting time, putzing on my phone
waiting to hear from someone
anyone to get me out of this funk
it's been awhile but I know this place
the first hint of it was in the twice packed bowl that stunk
of the first step to giving up
To sleeping in past important positions of clock hands
like employers will understand, yeah right
feeling like I'm the man
but I'm the man of nothing
but an empty can and that
lousy mouse that clicks
flicks its way through millions of pics
of girls and tattoos and more girls
It's been awhile now, quite long enough
cause I just took that first step back to
giving....well you know.....up