It's okay to lie down underneath your blank ceiling
Until twelve, one, two and counting...
Cutting your skin to pieces,
Eating your unfavorite chocolate Reese's,

Until your body fall into sleeping,
Mixing old dreams about running away
From a cult or an unknown creature
From someone you know or a foreign soldier.

It's okay to make mistakes as you run
It's okay, as they say, "You're only human. "
How you talk and swear too much through our thread
How you ignored and made every part of them bleed
How you call your every episode special
How your own mess and theirs wrestle

Until you open your eyes to see the same ceiling,
Still blank but with a hint of late morning blaze.
Time to repeat the same heat without healing
I apologize to you, one from the doorcrack who gazed.

How does the sun get its radiance emerging from centuries upon centuries of reactions
Similar to the ones in my belly when you walk up to me on our favorite weekends

If true love could exist then why was I born to unhappy parents and unhappy hands tore me out of the womb

And I cannot begin to solve the enigma of how love tends to fade but who am I to say that we were not in love and who am I to decide your fate (my love, you wanted to and you did so very often on our unfavorite weekdays)

And who am I to say I cannot wait until the weekends?
Who am I to wish away five-sevenths of my year to drown myself in 'self-fulfilling' activities that get me through five long days of things I am no longer passionate about?

And to that, I say I am human!
And I am a product of nature and like the pigs and the penguins I like having *** and I like to eat and I shall do as I please!

So please do not try to convince me that I cannot decide for myself; it is this illusion that gets me through three-hundred and sixty five days every year

This poem is about PETS
My most unfavorite pet.
We, my wife and I, inherited
A ******* invertebrete.

The first morning he awoke,
For something to eat
He was meowing.
Would you believe
At four o'clock in the morning?

Now if it had been left to me,
He would have been clobbered.
But my tender hearted Sunshine
Found some cat food in the cupboard.

So from that morning til the present,
That twelve pound black of fur,
Wakes us up every morning.
With a LOUD perr.

Now may people are pet lovers,
All kinds of pets, not just cats,
Dogs, birds, snakes, fish and parrots,
Monkeys, pigs, lambs, even rats.

Why I even read of a man
Whose pet killed him,
It was a tamed(he thought) gorilla,
That tore him, from limb to limb.

If you, dear reader, happen to be
A pet lover, that's ok, just keep it home
I'm glad you have your pet,
But keep it sheltered, don't let it roam.

The writer of this poem, has no use
For pets, dogs, cats, horses or whatever,
Having said this, I understand certain folks,
Are dependent upon certain kinds of animals,

To guide them, protect them, just be a companion
to them. These kind of pets, this author has no problem.
     From Jerry Howath's Book of Personal Opinion