you are an ***
I made a poem
you yelled at me
Evann and I said,
"******* LOSER CHILL YOUR ****"
and he said like a pshyco
"No U LoSEr"
and now I am forced to take desperate measures
*******,
-the entire site
Ps, we reported you to the mods :)
pps, hey could you guys knock some sense into this man he blocked us ****
ppps, ur mommie said you can't raid area 51 bc u bulli me :))))))))))))))))

my alarm clock tried to unionize today
so I replaced it with three raccoons in a trench coat
(they're much better at time management
even if they keep stealing my emotional stability)

you think morning people are *******?
I've evolved beyond the concept of time zones
my circadian rhythm is just
interpretive jazz at this point

i have conquered the mornings
the evenings and
everything in between
(that's code for "I haven't slept since 2019
and now I can taste colors")

productivity blogs say to make your bed
but I've transcended that concept
by turning my entire existence
into one continuous unmade bed

the sun and moon are just spicy frisbees
and I've caught them both
with my bare hands
(they're in my pocket right now, wanna see?)

ps: time is a social construct
pps: so is my sleep schedule
ppps: the raccoons agree
(they're my life coaches now, obviously)

listen Sam I know you mean well
but I can't handle being your friendly
healthcare-system-vigilante lookalike
(my skincare routine isn't bulletproof)

you're out here telling people I look like
the guy who 360-no-scoped big pharma
in broad daylight with a folder of
denied insurance claims as his calling card

I already have to wear a fake wedding ring
to keep the baristas from writing
their social security numbers
on my coffee cups

now I've got women sliding into my DMs
with their medical bills and ski masks
asking if I want to "hypothetically" discuss
the immediate future of United Healthcare

my therapist says I'm not responsible
for looking like a revolutionary heartthrob
but she also winked and asked if I had plans
this friday at the Cigna headquarters

ps: stop telling people I have an alibi
pps: I was actually making sourdough bread
ppps: the security cameras can prove it
(but please don't check them, my technique is embarrassing)

hey quick question
did anyone else's childhood come with receipts
because I think mine was factory defective
(but like, in a quirky way)

remember when we used to eat crayons
not me specifically, that's a generalized you
I was too busy trying to teach physics
to my imaginary friend's pet rock

the creative adult is the child who survived
which explains why I keep finding glitter
in really concerning places
like my tax returns and emotional baggage

turns out
trauma is just spicy nostalgia
and imagination is what happens
when your brain does parkour

anyway here's me
turning my childhood drawings into prophecies
because apparently
that's what we do now

ps: my therapist says I'm healing
pps: just kidding, I don't have a therapist
ppps: that's what the pet rock was for
(it had a doctorate in psychology, obviously)

you're telling me you jumped off a cliff
(metaphorically speaking of course
I have to specify or people get weird about it)
because someone said you wouldn't?

and now you're sad about the falling part?
which is, admittedly, the main part of cliff-jumping
but still

I'm very sorry to hear that the direct and
predictable results of your actions happened to you
(that's a lie, I'm not sorry at all
my grandpa's goldfish taught me about gravity
before he died of totally unrelated causes)

anyway here's me doing a backflip
off this emotional ledge
into a pool of expired milk
because that's just the kind of day we're having

ps: your shoelaces are untied
pps: you're not wearing shoes
ppps: neither am I
(that's metaphorical too, probably)