Which takes us on a direct path to:
THE  INCIDENT.
Say you are a normal man—whatever that means—
But say it’s late June of 1993 and you’re laying on the couch,
Scratching your *****, trying to intuit your LDL level
Based on the two bowls of the Old Lady’s Cholesterol Chowder.
The Old Lady-- you can call her Peg or Mrs. Bundy—
Served it up in her special legacy china,
An assortment of recycled tin foil casserole dishes &
Vintage melmac handed down by your mother-in-law.
You are on the couch giving digestion your best shot,
Still scratching your agates when Peg comes
In from the kitchen with your second glass of
Two-buck chuck and a smoking fatty she’s just ignited,
Miraculously without burning the house down.
The TV is on—the TV is always on because
The TV has had no off button since 1984
You are tuned to the CNN evening news &
A report comes on that makes you sit up,
Snap to attention, straight up and take notice:
"WOMAN CUTS OFF HUSBAND'S *****!"
The media shrikes in Atlanta have your attention now,
Your complete attention;
Your eyes are riveted to the telescreen &
Your blood pressure spiking at 240 over 140.
During the previous night of June 23, 1993,
John Wayne Bobbitt arrives at the
Couple's apartment in Manassas, Virginia,
Highly intoxicated after a night of partying.
According to testimony given by Lorena Bobbitt
In a 1994 court hearing, he then rapes her.
Afterwards, Lorena Bobbitt gets out of bed,
Goes to the kitchen for a drink of water.
According to a journal article in the
National Women's Justice & Defense
League of Psychotic Castrating *******,
While in the kitchen she notices,
A carving knife on the counter & "memories of
Past domestic abuse races through her head."
Grabbing the knife, Lorena Bobbitt enters the bedroom
Where John is sleeping & proceeds to
Cut off nearly half his *****,
Half his Johnson,
In this instance aptly named.
So you have some schnook who’s named
After the iconic Hollywood superstar John Wayne . . .
Now understand something, John Wayne—
The ******* Duke of Earl--
Personifies everything alpha male:
Physique, animal magnetism & a pair of
Huge ***** swinging in his chaps as
He sashays across the screen.
In real life he’s a bullfight & cigar aficionado,
A big game hunter and sport fisherman, &
A hard drinking Hemingway hero
Who spends most of his time aboard
A customized WWII U.S. mine sweeper
******* to a pier behind his house in
Newport Harbor, California.
He’s the proverbial man’s man, &
There’s no one like him in America
Until maybe Eastwood or Willis comes along.
There’s a statue of him out in front of
The Orange County Airport that bears his name.
I have a photograph of him hanging in my garage
Next to a Mad-Dog 20-20 poster.
But I digress.
We return to the Bobbitt story because
It gets better, keeps getting crazier.
After assaulting her husband,
Lorena leaves the apartment with the severed *****,
Drives around aimlessly for a short while,
Then rolls down the car window &
Throws the ***** into a field.
Only then does the loony ***** realize
The severity of the incident.
She stops and calls 911.
After an exhaustive search by
Volunteers from the local Humane Society,
The ***** is located, packed in the ice-slurry of
A banana-flavored 7/11 Slurpee, &
Taken to the hospital where half-**** John Bobbitt
Gets a short-arm inspection and treated,
Mostly for shock and awe.
His ***** is later reattached by Drs. James T. Sehn &
David Berman during a nine-and-a-half-hour surgery
Filmed by Ken Burns and broadcast in its entirety by
WGBH Boston, a stunning illustration of
Your tax dollars hard at work
At the National Endowment for the Arts.
An abridged version later becomes the season premier of
"Girls Gone ******* ******, Manassas!"
Lorena goes on Oprah to explain herself.

Lorena Bobbitt ((née Gallo) was born in Ecuador.
Her maiden name, ironically,
Means **** in English.
Sheriff Joe Arpaio in Phoenix had this to say:
“Deport the *****. She may have an INS green card
But there’s no way she had a government permit to
Go around lopping ***** off in Virginia or any other state.
Who does she think she is, Janet Napolitano?”
Napolitano could not be reached for comment.
Shortly after the incident, episodes of "Bobbittmania,"
Or copycat crimes, were reported.
The name Lorena Bobbitt eventually became
Synonymous with ***** removal.
The terms "Bobbitt Punishment" and "Bobbitt Procedure" gained
Social cache with a radical break-away sect of N.O.W.
COPYCAT Catherine Kieu Becker, 48 (Garden Grove P.D.)  
Woman Accused of Cutting Off Husband's *****
Pleads Not Guilty/ VIDEO: Watch Jennifer Gould's Report
KTLA News   10:40 a.m. PST, February 3, 2012 /SANTA ANA, Calif.
"A 48-year-old woman accused of cutting off
Her husband's ***** and putting it
In the garbage disposal has pleaded
Not guilty to all the charges against her.
Catherine Kieu, of Garden Grove,
Was indicted earlier this month on
One felony count of torture &
One felony count of aggravated mayhem.
She also faces a sentencing enhancement for
Practicing surgical medicine without a license."
Sign up for KTLA 5 Breaking News Email Alerts
Comments (130) Add / View comments | Discussion FAQ
Happy627 at 10:35 PM January 18, 2012
"So my x-wife is a violent drunken *****?
Never once did I ever think of hurting her
But now I see I was wrong.
Vengeance's is the true answer & payback is hell.
So basically I should put an M-40
In her *** and light the fuse.
I should be acquitted from any wrong doing
Because she was a violent drunken *****.
Maybe all men should do this to their
Violent wives/girlfriends & teach them a lesson.
Cyanmanta at 1:10 AM January 11, 2012
In response to Doreen Meyer:
"So you're assuming that because he was the victim
He must have done something to deserve it
In some small way?
Typical of convenient feminism:
Assume all female victims are innocent &
Pure as driven snow,
While dismissing all male victims
With the idea that 'he had it coming.'
I wish I could pander shamelessly
To the media for preferential treatment,
But sadly, I am male (or as feminists would say)
The Evil Gender."
Westfield at 5:47 PM Jan.09, 2012
She should get her own show on the ***** channel.
(Bravo). KABC radio's John Phillips & his girlfriend
Nathan Baker would love to watch it."
Sluff it off, take a load off, baby.
Take a load off?
“Take a load off Annie,
Take a load for free;
Take a load off Annie, and
Bom bom bom bom
Bom be bom— & Dddddddddd,
You can put the load right on me.”
Send “The Weight” Ringtone to Your Cell

. . . Snipped, fixed, neutered, gelded,
Emasculated, eunuchized, or castrated?
(Castrating Forceps  (www.alibaba.com/
Showroom/castration-tool.html).
Bobbittized!

My best friend Katy, an Okie
taught me useful life skills
as we walked along
train tracks covered in rocks
behind the Wrigley's factory

In every vent there were clumps
of fresh made spearmint gum
deposited fresh daily
and free, ours for the taking

And as we made our way
down Mission Street
loud, with dust and gravel
wafting up as big trucks drove
by and a row of ****** bars beckoned
to unknown lost souls

We'd arrive at 7-11 for
a slurpee

Slow rains, but the days working,
No pain, and the god's burning,
You tell me my taxes don't matter, when the game's spooky?'
I said my brain hurts, but no movies,
So meet me at the drop back, last gulp,
A glass of your white juice, with no pulp
but when the robots start beeping, light switch, up, down, backward,
it doesn't even count when the wires in your head spark.

waiting in a white room with no furniture
the humming air conditioner
can’t even drown out my thoughts
waiting to go back to maryland
for a hyperbolic death sentence—
to meet with the wonderful hypocrites
who shaped my cynicism
and anxiety
to feast on the last meal
of failure.
waiting to hear back from potential employers
who hold my future in their hands
but prefer to let me stew
waiting for the tears to start falling
I can feel my eyes welling
my lungs lugging every last bit of air
to my heart as it pounds
like an urgent knock at the door
waiting alone
with just my thoughts.
waiting to see the friends
who never got out to see the world
to look at me with delight, hoping
soon I will re-join their ranks
as a mindless tractor mechanic or slurpee filler
waiting for the cheap bottle whisky
in my stomach to regurgitate  
waiting for numbing conversations
about menial tasks and news
like the weather, or something else I can see in front of me.
waiting to be coma.
waiting to see my reflection—
or shadow.
waiting for paper and pen,
waiting for suicide by rhyme at the end.

Mary, plain name.  Mary, mother of God
Mary, Queen of the Strip Mall
Mary, daughter of a King and a *****
Divinity in her blood, conqueror of lands,
Monarch of her body, kingdom of junkies.
Nails inlaid with pearls, mink lashes and onyx eyes
Indigo polyester wraps her 36, 30, 41,
saltwater taffy legs, ****, and ***.
Mary wasn’t a tall boy, Mary is a funnel cloud queen
Obsidian brazilian in velcro, soda can curls.
Mary has no titles, Mary is a *******, Mary is an exile.
Queen of cream stucco and neon and parking lots.
Mary has disciples, all named Judas.
She has Roy Cohn, the judge’s son, and Louis XIV on their knees in prayer.
She has **** Cheney, Little Richard, and Freud their knees in the bathroom behind the Tesco.
Mary doesn’t confess, doesn’t beg, doesn’t buy.
Mary the conqueror, Alexander reincarnate, she survives.
Body bathed in ultraviolet, cocoa butter, vaseline, and newport menthols.
Mary talks to God in the mirrors at the salvation army.
Mary is scared of dying, she knows she is no ones martyr.
Mary never kneels, left the Bible in the motel nightstand.
A graceful end, a unceremonious departure.
Trade rose petals for needles and styrofoam slurpee cups.
Mary’s mistresses, lovers, and wives, gave her a few lead rounds,
Left her in the strip mall mausoleum.
Mary, queen of the carnal, saint of suburban perversions.
Mary never asked God for forgiveness or a fix.

A Comet passed too near the sun,
and was filmed  disintegrating..
Perhaps its G.P.S. was off
or just recalculating.
The solar skimming comet
surely melted in the heat.
Old King Sol, our yellow dwarf
Enjoyed his slurpee treat.
Astronomers were quite tight lipped
When asked to speak upon it
All I got from one stargazer
Was a terse” No Comet!”

Teej.

God owes us an apology for this one.
It is a failure of the world.
If there was too much
hurt in the dark corners where
you were cupping your palms,
trying to light matches, then
there is too much hurt.

Jellyfish Baby, we could see
through your pinkwhite skin
to all the bleeding pieces but
not stop the suffering.
So you sliced a hole in the skin of the world
and leaked out. All the brightness of you
spilled like a slurpee on the sidewalk,
dropped by careless hands.
We should've been more careful with you.

We should've built warmer nests
in which to cradle your tender heart.
We should've whispered in your ears as you slept
that 'home' is not a place
in the sky but people around a table
and dinner plates for everyone
and no one going hungry
or alone.

It is a failure of the world.
There is
too
much
hurt.
And there are still dark corners but
we have
no matches.

This year I went to the Fair
I couldn't believe how many people were there
There were rides, games and so much food
Taking everything in brighten my mood

On what to do next I couldn't decide
So I thought I chose something to ride
I don't do heights all that well
So I just rode the carousel

I played a game trying to get a prize
I didn't win, wow, what a surprise
I ate some nachos with a lot of cheese
I sipped a cold slurpee and got brain freeze

I saw an owl, a zebra, a camel, and a raccoon
Also a little boy crying who'd lost his balloon
On the way out I stopped and bought a souvenir
I'll definitely be back again next year

The Batman Movie (a review). The clues part was cool, but the end of it got boring. I liked that Batman kept a journal - I like the idea of men keeping journals, because, do men have many thoughts they share? Men’s thinking seems so ephemeral.

In this Batman resurrection, Pattinson’s Bruce Wayne & Batman are Kurt-Cobain-like emo and that seemed to work. Didn’t you just want to take your hand and get his hair out of his eyes? I think guys should have hair - I like hair on guys, not buzz cuts. I liked the muscle-car Batmobile.

I liked Zoey Kravitz, she was girl power, but not in a hot girl way, she had her own motivations, she wasn’t just in danger and served up to fuel Batman.

The movie is too long though. They need to bring back movie intermissions - I’d vote for that. As usual, I drank my giant slurpee and ate ½ my popcorn before the twenty minutes of previews were finished.

It’s a three hour movie. I had to *** so bad by the time the movie was ¾ over that I was grinding on my popcorn bucket to keep it in. I finally had to make a dash for the bathroom - I was afraid I’d miss the KISS scene. Argh!

Let’s talk about Robert Pattinson, the actor, and his arch from Twilight to Batman. Of course, doesn’t every vampire turn into a bat? (joke) but it’s always Pattinson being moody, being hot, figuring himself out and the introspective man - the broody man.

Are broody men ****? I don’t like broody men in real life - I feel that only one of us gets to be moody in a relationship - and it’s going to be me. Pattinson seems almost zany and cheeky in RL so the brood is his method act. I Like that Pattinson didn’t buff-up for the role - I think the buffed-up muscle-man as superhero perfection somehow relates to capitalism. Pattinson’s American accent was good.

What was missing from the movie was horniness. Batman didn’t seem HOT for Cat-girl - he just stood there for her to kiss. What’s boy-girl attraction if it’s not horniness? Where has the horniness gone in movies? Sexiness is missing from ALL the superhero movies - I guess the age demo is too young.

I give it three out of five stars

Play ball.
Bathroom stalls.
Cotton candy.
Randy Jackson.
Action films, comedies, and romances.
Shopping malls.
Blue ***** and hot chicks.
**** itch.
Shop lift.
Pockets full of chocolates.
A rock in my pocket reminds to think.
I hate when my clothes shrink.
Smoke rings.
Chinese Yo Yos.
** Hos and a slurpee.
7 11, stopped for munchies and im thirsty.
Working overtime.
Overworking me.
The herbal remedy has my mind fried.
Blind sided.
Hindsight is 20/20.
Im lazy.  
The shades are pulled down.
Its hazy.
Inactive.
Let me roll this blunt in the back seat of this cadillac.
Two P, pass that.
Im not looking to die.
Im looking for life after death.
Aftermath.
Nothing left.
Blasted, not bombs.  
Its my head and my chest.
Its the sess.
On my finger tips and on my breath.
I exhale clouds of wickedness.
Cleanse the soul.
Refresh.
Impress the judges to sway their interests.

at the county fair on the zipper
which everybody says is held together
in places with duct tape
you kiss me with blue-raspberry
slurpee lips
while we flip
and flip and
my stomach is sick
but i don't mention it.
the sky beyond the bars
of our cramped car
is still blue
but the night is bleeding in.
i wish i could swim
in that lingering blue:
play mermaid like as a child
on summer nights
in the neighbor's aqua pool.
in the water, weightless --
yet even then, perfectly careful
to avoid the deep end
where the sharks lurk.

you danced
in dark silent streets
letting icy snow
fall like tacks
on your tongue

caught in a dreamy pirouette
your arms out wide
in surrender to the heavens

beyond pale streelights
your eyes to the sky
reigning down upon you

snow falling like
a slurpee spilling onto the tile floor
of a 7-Eleven
our boots sloshing through it

your three-year absence
from it
ends with a nostalgia
and an innocence
you felt you lost

yet it descends upon you again
as you twirl
under snow like tacks
on your tongue

Touch

rough


Sight

orange

Smell

Sweet
Cherries

Taste

Sweet­
Lime
Lemon

Hear

Crunch
Munch
Snap
Chewy
Slurpee
Gulp

I saw her dancing on the stage
Within my pants I felt a rage
The animal wants out the cage
I hope she's on the same page

She found me standing by the bar
She said she saw me from afar
We went and sat under the stars
She said she lived by where we are

I gestured we go back inside
"Or" she said "we could go in your ride"
I knew right there, this girl is mine
And now it'd be my time to shine

We ended up back at her home
And now its time to make her moan
But moans quickly turned to groans
When I realized I had no domes...

"****!" I thought, "this is a mess"
But suddenly I did digress
Thought "what the hell" and I said yes
When she told me she was on Alesse

Without even thinking I went up in her
Had breakfast, lunch...and she was dinner
I really thought I was a winner
No halo here, this girls a sinner

I left her place dehydrated and thirsty
So I hit the Sev and bought a slurpee
I knew that girl wouldn't hurt me
But then I woke up with *****...

We are the championships

Dipsy do's soft serve
Just curve your dog
enthusiasm

He wants another hug
what heroism

Doggy dog leash pull

The presidential Poll

The bark full of dogs

Back to the future

Dog Bow wow machine

feature


The collie matched the

checkerboard

Barking Dixie to the ward

Being hugged and dodged

The ball in his mouth

We were both doggy tailed

Help me "Honda Accord"

The Waffle bowl meets

his approval dog bowl

The Patriot "Super Bowl"

like the dog dupper

Who really needs to eat

Moms supper
Again what a pain
What remains Hollywood
Hotdogs barkery train

Mr. Snoop-dog big and long

All sporting dogs trampoline

jumping like the Alpha College

scout snapping Dorm dogpiling


Your heart was trapped inside

his bark

Those troops hit a stump

Presidential

Trumps?? Devil dogs hired
Boot camps

Sylvester Balboa bark scoop

Saint Bernard Knox

Smoochy poochy jet lag

What a watchdog and friend

This is dog La La land


Bagels and those cute beagles

Slurpee lips no cat naps

From there wags and whiskers

I was left with a Soda pop

Three Stooges and cops

Having a dachshund meltdown

Football tackle stampedes

smarty pants

in my dockers seeing

Those cocker spaniels


Elton Johns of Daniels

Why do the humans become

like suckers dogs are the true

pledge hustlers

The Twitter subject became a

Dog Litter

Those dogs bark's Dads with

soda pops do-wops

Feeling nutty professor

my socks in my dresser

The dogs become smarter
than their masters


Someone was barking up the

wrong tree


You're the one who became

the pain can't you see

Diggetty dog house pet ate all

the water bugs happily end

Making a mate four leg friend


Who needs the dog house

Or his bone in T steak teeth

The corndog Kitcat kibble
bailing him out


Basketball he dribbled

Double Taurus dog was named

Boris Karloff so territorial

The Gulf of Mexico became his

surf and turf dog editorial

This was the operation double dip

This pup was the panic button

Her bark his park whistling tea kettl


Flip the house throw
out the sitter

The dogs ruined all the carpet

But you were leashed to him

like a magnet you felt like

Down to your last paws



Golden finger bone fund

You bow to their paw feet

Going to the "Bow Wow"

colorful Parade


Dogs new flash

"Hot dogs devil dogs
Raid bark and purr

Way smarter than you Sir

He bounced to his biscuit

Like a Karaoke dog game

Barking so spot suited

You were watching the

sports game the dachshund

was in a cabbie City


The human or an animal

Snipping your sneakers

Housebreaking a dog to
just imagine
All the people John Lennon loved
his dogs just Imagine

Hey it wasn't anywhere near a

dream but so worth it

You reached for his paw

no place like home Dorothy
last straw surrender


But the rewards of having

a dachshund if you only knew

People that don't have dogs

Some of them would not

understand that's OK


Dog spelled backward God

and their paw's with not
one flaw

Now drink your soda pop

at the bus stop all dogs

American flags playing tag

But remember your dachshund loves

to be hugged opening up
your emails


So much compassion love like no

other competition


Those jumps and wagged tails

So loving and running to greet you

and lick you so much to tell you
Just love and think

I am from cat clocks with batteries long since run out but never fixed like so much else
that we don’t have time for,
from piles of miscellaneous things we didn’t know if we were allowed to throw away because
Mother had a tendency to keep everything on hand
(even if those objects were buried far beneath more objects).
I am from movie stacks taller than me with box sets of things like “The West Wing” and “Psych” and “Star Wars” and “Indiana Jones.”
I am from the big blue house on the corner with the red double doors that were recently replaced,
the house with a creepy, old feel during the late hours when the shadows fall in ominous shapes
and twists and turns that always confuse new guests.
I am from the two trees that grew along with my brother and sister but not with me as
we never planted mine because I have always been the different one,
and the grand old trees in the backyard that blocked an aerial view of our property
as well as we shield ourselves.

I’m from Tim Allen at Christmas
(but brother always skips the last two)
and faces that could have been carved from the same model.
From Ken and Hilarie and Judy and Howard and adopted sisters.
I’m from volleyball with a rope tied between the sibling trees during blackouts
where Mommy dominated because after all, she had her athletic days too.
(I think this may have been my favorite family memory)
I’m from spontaneous slurpee or desert runs with the siblings
(I remember being so proud once I could finally be the one to drive us),
and from binge watching shows as a family
(one summer, nights were spent watching “The West Wing” and balancing our dinner plates).
I’m from “Chronicles of Narnia” played on loop during long car rides.
I am from strolls in empty halls past wheelchairs smashed up against the walls.
I am from the transition from “parents” to “father and sister.”
I am from welcoming nieces and nephews into our “family” whom I have vowed to protect
because precious things often get broken.

I’m from “is your homework done?” and “don’t forget to feed the cats”
and memorized bible verses recited on Fridays
while wearing dresses because that’s how things were at private schools.
I’m from unspoken words and seething anger buried beneath the surface.
I’m from little Medford, Oregon hidden away in a valley
and faraway Norway and England whose roads I long to travel.
I am from scrambled eggs and hashbrowns when I got home late from practice
(I think that’s where my sleeping patterns first went wrong),
and begging Daddy to make pancakes or French toast because that is my comfort food.
From the lucky family members that have had the chance to travel and instilled a wanderlust deep in my soul
because they got to see France and Haiti and Air Force bases sprinkled in countries I wish I saw stamped on my passport
(if I had one).

I am from secrets and lies because I was never taught an alternative,
after all my grandfather doesn’t even know how to spell his daughter’s name.
I am from disbelief when no one from that side of the family showed to the funeral.
I am from broken relationships I am too scared to repair
because I never learned that taking chances was necessary to life.
From pictures mostly packed away somewhere unknown to me
like so much else.
I am from the unknown
(that is why plans have always been my comfort and I have never liked to hear “just go with it”).
I am from the fear of being alone because I learned far too early that no one is permanent or promised.
I am from a conditioned fear that taught me to be afraid of the nights because everything gets worse then.
I am from nights of contemplating “is it really worth it?”
I am from stress and anger turned into blood.
I am from hearts turned bitter.
I am from selflessness because don’t you know that everyone else is so much more important?
They have so much more to give and so many more smiles to smile.

I am from “it’s going to be okay”
(I hate that phrase now)
and “she didn’t abandon you.”
I am from strategically placed clothing
and tear-stained pillows
and perfected lies when they are needed.
I am from quiet sobs at night
and pencils thrown across the room.
I am from night drives where I am tempted to maybe find myself a place for a nice accident
(but then again, this family already has bad experiences with car accidents).
I am from looks of pity and the worried glances of friends.
I am from “no, I’m just tired” because I don’t know how to explain
an exhaustion that numbs your soul and wears out your body and restricts your heart.
I am from pill bottles hidden in my room because if I can’t fix myself,
maybe they can.
I am from a walk on the beach with a blade in my hands while my friends slept in the truck.
I am from a moonlight hike to a cliff that I should have jumped off of
(and if it was just a little higher, I think I would have)
because everyone would have had it easier without me.
I am from “I am so sorry”
to “I’ll try to be better”
and “you deserve more” when I fail to do so.

I am from all of this and more.

You can't catch me 22 
I'm miles dead ahead of you  
Runnin' circles round' you squares
With lion shares and grizzly bares
Livin' on a cobra's prayer
With taboo turpitude'n tongue
Conundrums that I'm summon'un
The meta-Orpheus has come
Since 21, the chosen one
I'm neo-hippy rebel ****
So ante-uppers, get you some
Eleven seven slurpee sun
Super-soaking supernovas
With a matrix water gun
From vats of hydrochloric
Spillin' Joker on the masses
Turnin' Gotham allegoric
Into clown prince rhymes of passion
Of a blood of Christ fanatic
Jimmy Jones'n as I'm cashin'
In the semi-theocratic
Weapon cache'n checks imbalanced
Chemically unstable attic  
Bat **** crazy poison gases
Spewin' power-trippin' fascist
Cataclysmic autocratic
Devolution clash of classes
Resolution's prehistoric
Meteoric democratic  
So I'm risin' from the ashes
From dismayin' to conveyin'
How I'm goin' super Saiyan
When the treasure hordes of Mordor lords
Corrupt the men of Numenor
For Bard the Bowman heroes
Are the roles that I am playin'
In shadows of the Arkenstone
When I go dragon slayin'

Better don your leather chaps it's going to be a rough one
Pack extra roll caps into your Six Gun

Ask for double shots to compliment your Starbucks
All that's left now is to wish you good luck

Bring an extra pack of Bottle Rockets if you have them
Monkey wrench and needle nose pliers if you can find some

This could read as the last page to the final chapter
In what we anticipate as the Happily Ever After

Do all you can do to bring the water balloons
A cassette if you could of your favorite Show Tunes

Add extra sugar in your Slurpee from the 7-11
This ain't going to be easy is what I am guessing

Get a tight grip on your Thingamajig
Loosen the top on the Pickle jar lid

We're about to go through another life lesson
Which ain't nothing new if I was a man betting

Pack your bags for another day in the life
Extra padding would help for the bumpy ride

Think we've thunk of it all there's no more to say
We're now more than ready for another day

everybody hates chris hums on the television.
during commercial breaks, i stare at the ceiling,
feeling bed rest marooned.
cocooned in sweat-soaked blankets
dotted with crumpled kleenex
i ask myself for the first time:
“why am i alive?”

and it’s not that i want to die
although the strep throat
swelling up my lymph nodes
is hardly worth staying for,
but rather i ask what it means to be 10
and not able to see far beyond then
and where i fit into the hopscotch
criss-cross applesauce chaos
that is the world beyond the playground fence.

once im well again i ask my friends.
matthew strokes his hairless chin, then shrugs,
he doesn’t have time for existentialism,
he’s running late for cello lessons
so the question bounces off him like a
handball off a wall:
with a slap and a thump back down.

i ask tyler now.
he cares about me, but girls are gross.
he has a reputation to uphold,
which he won't if he tells me so.
he grasps for an answer,
not heartless, but manhunt tough,
“well, you make me laugh,
i think that’s good enough.”

that summer, he moved to texas.
facebook says he works at 7-11
and i wonder if on the night shift
when customers stop trickling in
and he’s mopping up puddles of slurpee
he remembers wrestling me on black top,
arms tangled in impossible knots,
fifth grade love and skinned knee blood
flowing between blows
and still laughs.

The green shirt that is lying in a pile with my other clothes, does not look green to me anymore. I wore it once and washed it about five times because I always forget where I toss it.

As I sit here in the corner of my bed; my eyes burning from lack of sleep but still not tired enough— I see the faded green shirt, crumpled with my old pair of jeans and five other shirts that I never wear. It once meant more to me, that shirt. Now it is just weary and old, collecting memories and dust.

I cannot wear it anymore because the misty green reflection in my eyes take me back, to when I first met you. The smell of cold coffee and the roughness of tissue papers from our first date makes me swoon. It reminds me, of several letters that I wrote to you with silly scribbles on the top and the crossword puzzle that I drew that now deserves a place in your bin. Takes me back to the seashore at night, candle light and the photographs you took of me wearing it. I can still feel the coldness of the plastic cup with the orange slurpee that we shared and laughed till our stomachs hurt, the way you held me every time you came to see me at my place. I think about the weekend we spent together, the matters we argued over; the days, the nights, afternoons and evenings that I cried alone in a grey room while anxiety twisted its knife deeper into my torso. The green shirt in the pile, reminds me of your beautiful smile, yoga class twice a day and how I trusted you with things when I was the most vulnerable and opened up to you and Oh, how you used it against me. Your shirt makes me think of how much my sister liked you, your childish laughter and the short story you wrote about not wanting your shirt back because you think I'm huge and I must have stretched it all out.

Out of all the things that we could and could not have said to each other— I'm sorry for stretching your shirt out.

Hey baby this one's for you. Like I said earlier the one and only thing I'm scared of is losing you. That's it. That's my one and only fear. Why you might ask? Well it's quite simple. For one, You're the first person I've ever been emotionally attached to. You're my thought when I wake up and you're my thought when I go to bed. I cuddle my pillows at night and pretend that they are you. You're always on my mind. Two, is because you make me so ******* happy. No one has ever made me this happy before and I cherish every last second we have with each other. No matter what's going on in my life you always know how to bring a stupidly big smile to my face. You're the only person I want to be with for a long time. Even when you spit burritos or cherry slurpee in my face(:
Three, I've never been more comfortable with anyone ever. Not even my life long friends. You've broken me out of my shell more than anyone. And I'm truly grateful and very appreciative for that. You make me less insecure about everything because I know you'd never judge me. You're the one person I can tell everyhthing to. This may seem really corny or really sappy or whatever, but every word in this poem is the God's honest truth. I hope reading this puts a smile on your face. And I don't care how bad your life is or how messed up you are, I will ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS be there for you. I will NEVER NEVER NEVER give up or quit on you. I WILL try my **** hardest to try and make your life a lot happier and a lot better.