Like a teenage boy.
Practically A prepubescent adolescent
out too late, with limited restraint
trying to cop a feel,
attempting to achieve an unreal ideal.

I'm not sure if I'll ever succeed and complete my masterpiece
Before it is lost to the terra-cotta floor.
Like my mind lost to amphetamine.
Seldom seen,
Like my *** appeal.
Just a mandala memento of a strange LSD daydreams,
From back in Hawaii when I was eighteen.


In actuality,
I am a mere twenty, & stressed by the present
Attempting to be more than an empty brunette beauty.
Bewildered by his words and left splintered,
In a dark world, void of a vice in paradise.
Wanderer, wonderer, you’re lost evermore.
Far too awkward to adore.

I'm all around 5'7 and 98 to 105 lb on a good day.
Sounds great if you wanna be castaway
By people who don't understand first hand
And demanded you to eat to gain some meat.

Although the ladies, who aren't jealous of my boney pelvis,
Say I'm a paragon in every which way, a total dime.
But to the fellas I'm hella undeveloped;
A kyphotic crescent moon that keeps getting slimmer.

But in truth — they wouldn't have fulfilled her anyway.

I am the luciferous prosperity of Celtic kings,
An authentic relict of a noble bloodline
Twinking, as lore to an all distant past.

ROBERTVS DEI GRACIA REX SCOTORVM
‘Robert, by the Grace of God, King of the Scots’

Robert the Bruce, from whom
I, Ashley Robinson, have derived
My descent in a straight line

10
9
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6
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4
3
2
1

Barons of Kincardine.

That mystic light is in your eyes
conquered in
dawn Beautiful and sharp
Like a Scots Thistle
My hip bones, are reminders
Of where my blood sprung from.