"shitfaced" poems
Watchin' bikinis as they stroll,
they show a lot of skin, but not much soul.
You're out of your league boy, but that's OK.
Tomorrow could be your lucky day.
And you'll find me in that sunny weather,
I'm gonna get myself together,
till my skin turns into leather,
down on the Redneck Riviera.
"4x4s" sportin' bars-n-stars.
Ball caps and tank tops, their hittin' the bars.
Tattoos gettin ********* scarin' "tourys" away.
It's alright Ma tomorrow's a beach day.
And if you ain't a "toury"
you're runnin' from your past.
FBI, DEA or maybe the IRS.
Past wives, past lives, AWOL.
Everybody knows you here, but no one will tell.
Non-com fly-boys with their Amerasian wives,
bringin' 'em to America, given 'em better lives.
Some stay together, but others will roam.
They'll hit the street for money like they did back home.
And you'll find me in that sunny weather,
I'm gonna get myself together.
Frankly Scarlet I don't give a **** about Tara.
I'm down on the Redneck Riviera.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 1:38 PM UTC
In response to the text: *"who wants to get ********* this weekend?"*
I reply: I'll bring donuts, Gatorade, and Cards Against Humanity.
I tell the girls that the snacks are for them, so they don't get too drunk or hungover.
But really I know myself too well, and I binge when I feel lonely.
Its hard not to feel lonely, when you're the only sober one there.
At the Party:
Never Have I Ever reveals more than I ever thought it would.
I might be the oldest, but I am by no means the most mature.
Things I have never heard of, things I could have never thought of are things of which they speak.
Two donuts are gone.
Their alarms all go off at 10:00 for birth control. They take out their mini purse packs of 30 pills, no bigger than a credit card.
I don't take birth control, because my periods are regular, and well:
Depression+antidepressants+confusion of sexuality= no *** drive at all.
I mean zip, zero, nothing.
Leaving me to be the only ****** of the six girls here.
Three donuts are gone.
Hours ago though, I took my 300mg of Seroquel XR.
I timed it just right.
This time I won't fall asleep hours before everyone else
'Pong' requires drinking so I sit their and watch.
Four donuts are gone
Shots are taken.
I pour more tea into my mug.
Five Donuts are Gone
Drunk face-timing old friends who have moved away results in much yelling, and her hanging up.
I start a new group text where I talk only to myself.
All Donuts are gone
There is no wonder why alcohol and depression don't mix
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 11:48 PM UTC
Fireworks were cool. Framed metal chairs with woven nylon Americana on watered lawns on the outskirts of the edge of Los Angeles. Hairy neighbors, Miller Drafts and dog **** Sally ****** Jim on the corner, and Jim drank, or started again and wouldn’t stop, but was good with a flat tire and chain adjustment. His kid had a glove like a vacuum. His daughter was a ***** Sally afforded a Mexican gardener.
Tim always had fireworks. He had gasoline and willed fireworks into his driveway. He had rope and a keg.
Schatzky keep her cool. She had to. She worked the 5th and taught everyone’s kids. She taught their parents too, 10 years ago.
Her son Donavan and her husband Keith lived for the 4th. Little pink houses and Jack and Diane kind of **** So they watched fireworks on flag hill while their neighbors ****** and got ********* and burnt their eyebrows. Donavan was ecstatic.
Each year the hill was gilded in gold for Donavan and Keith and and Schatzky, because each 4th brought fire and explosives in a way they could never afford.
Keith was more patriotic than most. He waited and enlisted and became a hero. Donavan watched on TV. Schatzky watched too. We won the first gulf war and everyone knew it: https://youtu.be/4gNhs2SRacs?t=1m10...
They celebrated the fourth in baseball stadiums. They celebrated life and heroism and purpose, and they celebrated with F16s and the best explosives the peacetime nation offered.
And Keith celebrated and embraced purpose. He even became a leader in the 2nd gulf war.
Sally stopped ******* Jim. Jim wasn’t married anymore. His kid lowered Tim’s basement and didn’t steal the copper.
Tim’s house was worth a fortune but it had a radon problem.
Schatsky was accused of drowning her dog, but she didn’t do it.
Jim still drinks; he’s smarter now.
They all meet on flag hill every 4th. The fireworks aren’t as good. A lot of build up for a finale that feels like an accident.
Water seeps through my jeans and no one can see my face as I limp home with a broken rubber sandal and a bucket of ice, a dog tied around my legs, and a kid face first on the grass, a wife whose friend drank our last beer an hour ago, a phone with two-percent battery left and my mom wants to show me what fireworks look like in California.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 2:12 AM UTC
For the third time, I’ve found myself *********
in the reality of how I was perceived
by the people who passed me on the sidewalk,
or who met me at the party, or who
took my heart and collided it with their hips.
And by now even I know that I should know
how the rest of the conversation will go.
My cheekbones will grace the slander
of a compliment skewed, a lust
for my body ruined by misplaced intentions.
My agreement
to go back to his room was never welcomed
by my head, but instead
the sad bed with its sheets already turned down
waits for me and I hate it. I hate it
like an insomniac hates sleep, like the sun
loves ice cream.
For the third time, I’ve found myself smashed
into a wall of circumstances, appearances
cushioning the blow. My pretty face,
my pretty face, my pretty face!
God, how I’d love to put on a show
so you could see how my mind tumbles
across all the roads I know I shouldn’t be crossing.
How my eyes dance on every temptation just waiting
for the hand to be dealt, for the bet to be placed.
For the third time, I’ve let myself be bound
by the vibration of reassurance, by the ring
of a telephone. I’ve lost
a part of myself in you. How haphazardly ineloquent
it all seems in my nightmares, how blessed
the rest of the world must be to know this pain
and be able to stop themselves from feeling it.
How dark
it is under your seat
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
#
*Imprinted in to the fleshwall-
linings of my very spirit
resides a photo of you--
(staring at your computer screen)
with a genuine look of shock
and disbelief..
..And before I could even yell Sam
I was receiving by you
the most horrendous, publicly displayed
cock-kick I have ever received.
It only stayed out there for a short time
but online, a "short time"
..is exactly as an eternity;
So I pulled back in self protection.
I had been dickin'-around out there
in a whole 'nother poetic-realm..
playfully finding words and verse comparing
my wildly-passionate virility
to that of a well-honed precision,
high powered performance engine
And two clear babes showed up in the comments
and let me know
how impressed and affected they were
by what it was they were reading.
So naturally, me being a single man..
I responded.
I never knew them before, or ever saw them after.
End of story.*
..Almost.
*Young, beautiful Wildling--
I never knew you even gave two ficks and a ****
Until I saw that picture of you..
staring into your computer screen
in raw, disbelief--
...the wind, fully knocked out of your sails.
So.. clearly you buried yourself
in multiple two-fingered snorts
of your favourite "spurned lover's" little helper happy-juice..
and once you reached the intended goal
of full-blown, *********
You performed some of the most Machiavellian-shit
I have ever seen in my life.
(But it fell short of its intended goal.)*
Nothing can remove you from the love of you
that I feel in my heart.
*What you thought was destroyed,
was immediately forgiven
Solely because of that picture of you
that is now, forever mine. Solely.
There is a dream, beautiful girl
..And nothing you can do
can make it end.
(The restoring of you back to you
is such a central part of that dream.)
The restoring of you, young beautiful.. You.
Mm.
Shhh.... listen..*#
Jan 21, 2023
Jan 21, 2023 at 8:47 PM UTC
how horrible you are!
mirrors crack upon your gaze and split you in two
yelling and throwing tantrums, almost begging you
to vanish from their reflections, so they can heal again
the ugly truth - a part of the festering pile of **** you really are
want more? sure
you write about how wonderful a brand new day in your life is!
-this is happening in an E.R. at 4:00 AM - no subtext
last night was the best ever! drums, drugs, toxicity and debauchery
-you beat the land lady to within an inch of her life, then
ran from the cops for 4 miles, after which
you fell down 4 flights of stairs in the park because
you couldn’t see the railing properly - no subtext
{new update! 158 people followed you}
you’re a success. your blog is on fire. next day 281, day after - 590.
you post pictures of yourself with women getting ********* and ******
-you didn’t score with either - no subtext
you write old quotes that nobody’s heard in ages
-said you started a trend and took pride in it - subtext
you post made-up chats with ***** women trying to come on to you while you’re playing it cool
-it was your pen pal asking you to stop being a fake cause she believes in who you actually are,
so you tell her to **** off and block her. - no subtext
the one thing you don’t write about is why you are such an *******
in a world full of ******** with nothing better to do
than entertain others with a **** load of lies
simply for the sake of recognition
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 3:53 AM UTC
is that how you feel?
this is how you're feeling? And you tell me your mind is reeling and you can't keep your head straight
and that's why you need to be *********
and I could never mean more to you I couldn't mean a thing to you
my addiction keeps getting fed from every word you ever said
and you say you know you say you know me
so if you know me why would you hurt me and why do you keep me seizing
grasping
clutching for something that's not even there
you care
you say you care you want me to share why I get so angry why I get so frustrated
why I get SO ******* FED UP
your words I hold onto
and the words you never say
and you'll never say because you're not in the mood
you're never in the mood to open yourself up
to me
you say you know me
you say you know me better than I know me
MY GOD you
**** ME
OFF
and claw at my mind with your words that I find so alluring
and I find you so alluring
and you're beautiful
and that mind
your mind
**** your mind
and you ****** me with your mind
and ideas
and plans
and then you use your hands
and I'm caught again.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
I think we could be a good couple.
Yeah, I think we could make it work.
Is there something wrong with that?
I think you're pretty.
You think I'm pretty.
I want to kiss your face
and you want to kiss my face.
I want to hold your hand
and you want to hold my hand.
You're cute
and yeah,
but also,
and kinda,
you know?
Your dark brown eyes pierce through the burdens of everyday life and appeal to me.
Your dark red lipstick is teasing and yells "hey let's be more than friends."
I want that.
I want to stay locked onto your eyes and I want to forever have your red lipstick smeared on my neck.
I want you.
You're blue dress is beautiful and stands out from all these slutty leopard spotted rags.
Your face is radiant and shines over all these ********* makeup caked ******
I'm not afraid to tell you I love you and I hope you're not too afraid to love me.
I want to hold you and smoke cigarettes with you until we're tired of them and then I want to kiss you until we're tired of that and then I want to talk to you about e e cummings because we'll never get tired of that.
and I want you.
Just you.
you.
.
Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 2:16 AM UTC
Sorry, dude. I must admit
I find it more than pathetic
That you experience life
With sorrow about some of it
That you don’t have a drug
To take to help appreciate
Something that is amazing
And really needs no chemical
To help you exaggerate
What is really going on
And pretend it is better
Or somehow transcendent
As if water can be wetter.
But it is as if time warped
And I have gone backward
To talk to myself about it
And then zapped forward
To see what a saturate
What a wet-brained fool
I was back then, it’s true.
I was a tin-plated tool.
I measured my existence
One dime bag at a time
Giggling with stoner friends
About my forays into crime;
Selling backs of skunk ****
When nobody else had any
Good stuff or bad stuff.
And I was the one with plenty.
Walking through Hollywood
With stoner friends and flakes
Singing as we stumbled along
About life and what it takes
To satisfy *** hounds those days.
*** drugs and rock and roll
And pride in our half-witted ways.
Learning how to roll pinners
Of a buddy’s stash on the sly
While he was taking a whizz
And couldn’t ask me why.
Learning how to properly treat
The remaining sticks and stones
And confiscating the roaches
When the others left them alone.
That was the cannabis coalition
The Sativa Society at its height.
We worked in the daytime and
Got ********* most every night.
And sooner or later, on the job
In the bathroom or on the roof.
I didn’t think of it addiction.
I still needed further proof.
I needed to try to buy ****
From a government man I met.
Fortunately I bailed on that
Before adding one more big regret.
Life has gotten better since then
No more outside dependence.
I quit before the drugs became
The entire focus of my existence.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 6:32 PM UTC
Oh mother dear, where do I begin?
I do love you, mommy,
I love you like a venomus snake,
in which I run from,
hoping to find shelter in my own mind,
I run and I run and I run,
only to find myself back again,
because as much as I want to distance myself,
from the mistakes you've made,
I find myself drawn to the idea of change,
but who am I kidding?
In the back of my mind,
I know you'll never change,
I know you'll only get stuck deeper in your current ways,
the way you need the ***** and the ****
just to cope with the mistakes you've made,
because you've never forgiven yourself, for everything you failed to change,
and you'll never realize,
that drinking yourself into a coma, won't change a ******* thing,
but mommy, I love you, as you love me,
in the only way we will ever know,
We live in a small town,
you live upstairs, and I live below,
where I listen to you stomp about your little home,
you were never light on your feet,
and I can hear almost every move you make,
which is kind of comforting,
for if I can hear you, I know,
you have not yet went on your daily trip,
to that little store you head to every morning, around the same gravely time,
9 oclock the liquor store opens, and down the block you go, for your first dose of poison,
its not very comforting to know,
your slowing killing yourself with deadly liquids,
You my dear, are the reason I hate alcohol,
the reason I swore I'd never become you,
it all leads back to you,
the reason I can't sleep sometimes,
just thinking about the one I call mom,
and the way she started life mistakes early,
thinking about the way you started drinking at just barely fourteen,
maybe it wasnt your fault,
maybe you were lead to the bottle,
by some events around you,
can we possibly blame your mother,
was she cruel, did she not love you?
I will never ask you these things,
but may I say, curiouser and curiouser, I do get as time goes on,
who made you like this? or was it all on your own?
I can't help but believe you'll never get better,
you'll always be a mom by day and a drinker by night,
and sometimes, a drinker full time,
stomping about with your ever so heavy steps,
if i'd never met you, I'd swear you were a hundred pounds heavier,
just from the way you walked,
and sometimes fell, tumbling to the ground,
breaking skin into cuts i'm curious about the day after,
and you just say you fell,
you don't tell the truth,
I'd really rather you just say, okay, fine, it happened when I was *********
and still drinking,
because as the saying goes,
one is one too many,
one more, is never enough,
which is why you drink until you can keep your eyes open, no more,
and then is the time you finally hit the floor,
to wake up confused the next morning,
only to start all over again,
this be the cycle of the one I call mommy,
mother dearest, I love you,
in the best of ways,
I love you so, that I can only be honest when I say,
you have a problem and you need to change,
but just the same,
I love you, as you love me,
in the only way, we will ever know
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 10:50 PM UTC
There was a time in my life
when I was an expert
at quarters.
In fact,
I was so good at it,
every time I played,
I would get more *********
than all the others.
It wasn't about love
or intimacy,
it was about being
the biggest bad ***
But when I look back now,
it may have been about
being the biggest
drunk *******
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
I am not a ******* parrot,
you ********* *******
Dont tell me to repeat after you
don't hush the room so everyone can hear me
dont ******* tell me i need a beer so ill speak more.
you are the biggest ******* i have ever met.
Not everyone is outgiong
not everyone feels comfortable in a large group of people
not everyone is able to yell over your drunk ***
im not sorry i can't speak very loudly
im not sorry im shy
im not sorry i am who i am
but i am sorry that you can't have fun without getting drunk
i am sorry that you can't treat your wife with respect
i am sorry your kids had to put up with you as a father
i am sorry i met you.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 5:10 AM UTC
We used to smoke **** together by the school.
You were practically my sister and I loved you.
You always had the good **** and you always had cigarettes.
After a while **** was not enough.
You showed up with ***** one day and we got *********
This went on too long.
We feel into the habits our parents warned us against.
We blew off friends and family,
we lost relationships and trust but we had our **** and our *****
We had each other and that was all we needed.
I remember when we shared our house and how happy we were.
I would go to school because you made me.
You would go to work so we could afford our life.
When you got home, always a quarter after six, we would drink.
One day, a Tuesday, you came home with junk.
You said it was good stuff, you knew the chemist who made it.
So we snorted.
That's when it all started.
We snorted, every time more and more.
After maybe three years that was not enough.
You were the first to stick that needle in your arm.
I followed with the same ******* needle.
Next was ****
I stayed away from it but you shot up. Twice a day for months at a time.
You quit your job and cashed in the money we had been saving for a car.
I started to hate you.
I ******* hated you and I told you everyday.
Eventually I kicked heroin's demon off my back.
I smoked **** and watched you fall apart.
Their would be random guys at our house and you got only god knows how many diseases.
All so you could get your ******* fix.
A year ago today was the last time I saw you.
I hope you read this and I hope you ******* hate yourself, Carol Dean.
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 12:20 AM UTC
You wonder sometimes, don't you,
often as well, but maybe when
you're in bed,
or
on public transportation.
You wonder how they all do it,
and how they all step like ants
to a rhythm without numbers.
You wonder how everyone else
can possibly stand all of this *******
nonsense and not just blow up
or snap and just lose their
god **** minds.
Start fires and explosions and
**** prime ministers and presidents,
and cry and **** and protest the
meaninglessness of such a
cruel gift as humanity.
You wonder how everyone hasn't given up.
All the while,
everyone else wonders
when everyone else will
******* lose it too.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 8:25 PM UTC
feed it blood feed it *****
feed it drugs and razors
smear it with cover up
and send it off to get an education
laugh at its ********* antics
stab it in the back the way it taught you to
feed it angst and ***
feed it amusement at others misfortune
watch it spend all your money
and throw your children in a woodchipper
witness a shattering mind
observe its destructive nature
feed it smoke feed it flame
feed it heat and music
listen to its laughter as it jumps off a building
and shatters like glass on the ground below
cage this hungry twisted creature
and give in to its beautiful seduction
feed it rage and feed it poison
feed it your life
because thats what it wants
and you dont have the will power to fight
so join it in hateful self abuse
make wild love to it in the dead of night
feed it your happiness and your depressions
feed it your friends and pets
**** your family
and weep into the night with it by your side.
then smile
because its what you wanted
when you gave in
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 11:15 AM UTC
It’s New Year’s Eve!
Let’s get knee-walking plastered.
Don’t eat anything today,
It gets to your bloodstream faster.
It’s Saint Patty’s Day!
Let’s get ********* on green beer.
I’m Irish, so I am entitled, you see
And I won’t be again until next year.
It’s my birthday!
Let’s get plowed out of our minds.
Let’s drink everything in sight
And ***** every ***** we can find.
It’s Saturday night now!
Let’s do a bunch of beer bongs!
Anything that’s okay with my gang
It’s all good. It can’t be wrong.
It’s Fourth of July today!
Let’s have a picnic so we can drink.
But not fancy cocktails for me.
I don’t care for throwing up pink.
It’s Labor Day today!
Let’s do a chugalug contest today.
We’ll laugh at nothing at all
And drink the whole day away.
It’s a sporting event tailgate party!
Let’s get drunk together in a parking lot
And act like the teenagers we think
That we are when we really are not.
It’s Happy Hour! Hooray!
Let’s eat buffalo wings and imbibe
And hope the cop that stops us
Is okay with drunks or accepts a bribe.
It’s a bachelor party right now!
You don’t want to offend the host. Drink!
Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow
Well, it will be more sober than you think.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
We spill our coffee and reach for the paper towels
We toss tons upon tubs of aluminum cans with the trash each hour
We turn lights on in the middle of the day when the brightest beacon is all we need
We stay glued to televisions evening in and morning out
ANd don't even listen to what they're saying
We sure hear it in the background
Of our cell phone chats and screaming brats
Need Need Need
Is all they say
Day after day
WHy must we need these things so badly
It takes more effort to get ********* and stupid
Than to peacefully sit
And think
About anything in particular
And nothing at the moment
Or something in time
But we do it anyways
Week and week and weak
ANd we wake up the next morning and toss the cans
In a plastic bag
WHich we throw in a bigger can
Which gets picked up by this rolling thundering truck of a thing
That burns more gas than a speedboat
Which is what we're all riding through this life
Rather than paddling down a gentle brook
In a hollowed out tree
Oh wait
We cut all of those down to make more things
Like post it notes we use once
And then toss in another metal can
With another plastic bag
Which as you may guess
Goes on and on in this excessive
And perpetual cycle of total waste
Those trees make pieces of plywood
Which kids paint designs on
And toss ***** back and forth
into more plastic cups
When we could just set our own glasses
Around the place in random spots
And they don't even need to be cups
They could be fishbowls
And you find a small item that does not need to be a ping pong ball it could be a lil toy lion or a seashell or a miniature book
Or an acorn
In fact
Why do we even have houses in the first place
It doesn't rain that often
And when it does
You might as well just climb under a tree
Or duck into a cliff
Or be ******* resourceful
And find a natural solution
Stop buying bag after bag after bag of plastic party cups
Take the ones you already have and make someting fun
You could use them to play a game where you build a palace
By balancing the cups and making walls and such
You can do that with anything you have in your house or outside or wherever you are
Find the fun in things
Think about the infitine number of things you could do with each item you see
We should just sort through our dumps and take evertyhgin and make it into something useful
Stop resource production completely
And live naturally.
Aug 21, 2010
Aug 21, 2010 at 10:23 PM UTC
She's sick to her stomach of your ********* promises,
Of the nights you promised to bring happiness and brought pain.
She swallowed you up in the pit of her being
And you Gargled inside her making her spit and splutter,
She's in the gutter.
And while she's down you pump your poison through her veins with nothing to gain, numbing her brain.
Yet again, you mask the pain.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC
Addiction offers so many
Glamorous ways to die.
It’s total wonder to me
Why everyone doesn’t try.
You can get almost all of the
Diseases known to man.
No other kind of dissolution
Gives what addiction can.
There’s diabetes, and then gout
And pancreatitis too.
All these devastating kinds
Of hell are there for you.
You lose your toes and hands
And maybe you go blind
Or maybe your very guts
Begin to commit inner crimes.
You lose all morality
And rob those you love.
You hold the drug you take
About fifty miles above
Any care or real concern
For those you may destroy.
You become a liar and a thief
Just a typical growing boy.
Nobody trusts, they run away
And leave you to suffer alone.
Life then turns itself into
Your personal Twilight Zone.
Suddenly your companions are
Just as ********* as you.
You are the lowlife you ridiculed
Back a just year or two.
So go right on calling it
That drinking game you do;
Partying and social stuff
Until you know you are through.
That may not be until they throw
The dirt over your casket.
For now, have fun on your trip
To hell in a hand basket.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 6:18 PM UTC
Over the river
And through Grant Woods
Through Hallmark scenes we go.
Through colors of white
That are not quite right
Not even for pissed-on snow.
If Currier and Ives
Tends to give you the hives
You really might not want to go.
By now we have cars
And thank your stars
No shoes for the horse to throw.
Old men in jeans
In bucolic scenes
From a hundred years ago.
Don’t be in a rush
As driving through slush
Can cause accidents, you know.
Turkey and dressing
And Parker rolls
May suit the day just fine,
But a warning here
I’ll make it clear
You might not like mulled wine.
When you have eaten
While women work
The men can go off and drink.
The men getting *********
A seasonal disgrace,
The gals keep their minds on the sink.
Later while driving back ,
The men passed out,
The women behind the wheel.
They women all try
To figure out why
They go through this yearly ordeal.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
Off we go with a loud hurrah
dog and kid and stuff in the car
buckling up and blasting some tunes
singing along like a couple of loons.
Taking a ride on a sunshine highway
stopping off at finnegans wake
we'll poke out our tongues at the world rushing by us
and belly laugh wildly for belly laughs sake.
We'll sing of tattoos and rowdy bar fights
and rats lounging in vats of ale
I'll silence myself as the bagpipes start blowing
and smile as my little guy takes it away
I'm not sure he quite understands what he's singing
nor that he cares as he fist pumps the air
I watch as he blushes at the lyrics with swears in
then sings them quite loudly, as if I'm not there.
This music you sent us, makes us feel alive
and Kiss me I'm ********* is fun when your five
not suitable listening for such tender ears
but his grin is far wider than it's been in years.
So God bless the Murphys and God bless you too
for bringing such joy on our trip to the zoo.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 3:57 AM UTC
I’m a member of so many 21st counter cultures
Of which there are so many we are rendered meaningless
Wait, that’s not right, let me try again
“I choose to ignore this. Cabin in the Woods” He says, The Ostrich Method, head in the sand
And we’re running out of beer, I’m sobering up,
Or rather it was a sobering moment
Just more ammo for these moralists
“Ohh, you’re a drain on society” – buzzkillers the lot of ‘em
Probably religiouses with their ‘God’ and whatnot
“Thou shalt not get ********* or whatever, I dunno I’ve never read that thing
Meanwhile cook talk is running through my head “I’m pretty sure I’m dying” I tell him
Passive aggressive. ****** Isolated, negative worldview
Defeatism exemplified, the most educated generation ******* in the snow
Ya, I know. We’re entitled but they sold us a false reality
We can’t be anything we want, Jack, that’s a fallacy
“But He’s alright” he tells her. I guess they’d been ******** on men
I wanted no part of it – washed my hands of the whole affair
Focusing instead on scotch and rapidly disappearing ice
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC
1. Stop looking at his Facebook profile. Seeing his posts tears your heart open again, especially when they're about you. You know that he is not worth your time.
2. Eat more. You need the nourishment. The number on the scale does not matter to anyone but you. Who cares if you went up from 102 to 108? No one.
3. Love yourself. There is nothing poetic or beautiful about getting ********* alone in your bedroom and stumbling drunkenly to the bathroom to cut yourself open.
4. Teach people how to treat you. Explain your boundaries. If someone doesn't respect them, cut them the **** off. They don't respect you.
5. Take more baths. It may force you to look at your naked body, but the warm water calms you down.
6. Do your ******* homework. It may not matter after high school, but it matters now.
7. Stop giving your heart to boys that won't even give your their time. He may claim to love you in the dark, but during the day you're just another **** to him.
8. Pursue that guy. Yeah, you might get hurt. But it'll be a lot of fun in the meantime.
9. Stop acting like you're above high school activities. You have a year and a half left, make the most of it. (Even if it's buying a poofy dress you'll never wear again and going to Snoball with your best friend.)
10. Buy more red lipstick. You feel like you can do anything when you wear it, and you deserve to feel like that all the time.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
Let's dance to oldies
*********
and stumbling
At five in the morning.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 5:43 PM UTC
The waiter grabs
another beer
brining it to
table 24.
They send him for
more
water.
He cusses as he walks
back
and forth
He brings
them
the water
the beer
is
gone.
They send him for
another.
I pour him one.
He brings it to the table.
But not before
asking me
if we plan
on getting ********* tonight.
I tell him:
"Yes. It's Amanda's
birthday.
Everyone is going out."
He brings the table another beer.
The fat man sitting there
laughs.
His laugh is
curdled with
an onset drunkenness.
I pour another beer
for a different waitress.
I am counting
the
clock.
She grabs the beer.
And smiles with
an honest
smile.
She is new.
Unaware of the
distain
we all
hold tightly.
I pour another beer.
I count the clock.
Until we can
get
*********
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC