I’am the
Whiney,
Amy Winehouse
Wannabee.
That’s going to blow myself,  
away
before the Whispers of wicked winds can.

I can’t smile anymore.
If you have to always
stab
me in the back.
My heart lives on the other side
of my body.
If ya wanted to....

I could get you;
a steak knife
and you could
tear into my heart
like it’s
a medium rare steak.

If it would make you happy.
I’ll even bring the A-1.
Cause I care that much.

Rush, Rush!
Gunky plush bagog
Nugget sog
Peedle glog
Plundering down the boulevard
I saw what seemed to be a Schmagtap
Slukavard.
Under his  buttons, there grew his
Mutton.
Mutton branch, penal franch
Sogging down the grittle bog
And briggenfagig squeezing a bib,
Soaked in carrot juice frib
Muggafloo

Plubderp.

Schmubderp.

Im here for family my Juggalos don't care bout the rest,
All you whiney *** haters to me are just a test.
I'm down with the clown and I will be until I die,
Whether it be heaven or Hell in which I fry.
I'm representin clown love for all my life,
And I hope so will my future wife.
We got Blaze, ICP, Twiztid, and Boondox,
**** what the haters say this music rocks!
We all got love for one another we family,
Sit back and watch and song you'll see,
We paint our faces but it's not just for show,
We show our heart which route our minds will go.
We don't care what you think or say,
Every one of us deals with haters everyday.
We will live strong and die strong,
And no matter what you say we'll always be strong.
When we die we get our own island where we go,
And if you ain't down Thats a place you'll never know.
We Juggalo homies man we're the best,
And no matter what you try we'll pass your foolish tests.


- Dustin Kohman 1/17/2011 1:32 pm

Every night, before going off to bed,
I lie down, and reflect on all the things I've done, heard, and said.
Have my words affected peoples lives?
Have my actions, changed how I'm viewed peoples eyes?
Am I still self conscious about the things people have said?
Do I still think I'm fat or think that I'd be better off dead.
Am I still just a whiney little girl?
Will I actually get somewhere in this world?
Will I ever be loved?
Or will I continue to be pushed around, bullied and shoved.
Yes, I've heard some pretty nasty things in my day.
But now, I've learned not to listen to what people do or say.
I know exactly who I am inside.
I've been depressed it for so long, but now, I refuse to hide.
I love myself, in every possible way.
So, for now, I drift asleep, and hope that tomorrow will be an even better day.

I claim to have empathy
But I also know I'm lacking.
I chuckled when you said
You'd marry him
You're in high school, sweetie
And when it didn't work out
I wasn't at all surprised.
When you ******* about your life
My mind was on mine
When you made every small problem
Bigger than it needed to be
My thoughts immediately said
"It could've been worse"
But my mouth didn't dare.
And then you have the gaul to tell me
That I'm being pessimistic and whiney
After all the times I bit my tongue
In front of you?
Sorry honey,
But I can falsify empathy for you.
If it's sympathy you want
Go look elsewhere.

If I did go wrong more or less at once, I wonder where
The chop block decisions of grade school, when you first realize you don’t care
‘I just don’t care’ in whiney and off-pitch voices and messy drawers
Was it the first time you realized you couldn’t be perfect and so just stopped
Being
Was it sneaking on to computers and secretly learning more about life in books than your
Parents wished you to (***** things)
Or was it when you learned because you shouldn’t
And didn’t learn and didn’t learn, and that persistent bubble as you grew up got bigger and bigger
Some looming threat about your future dangled over your animal head like a carrot as you trotted through worksheet a, a-2, a-3
And exercises you could finish in two minutes or two hours and get the same grade
Or copy and get the same grade
And those grades mattered more and more, and vaguer and vaguer
And they guided you less as they shoved more in front of you and grabbed your nose to say
This is important, this is you
And your friends started laughing like lunatics as well as *******
And the first kids ended up crying in stairwells
And you slept in class?
Was it all that, or was it outside. Was it your parents admitting they weren’t happy.
Was it the first time you had to recognize dishonesty or cruelty in others
(you had long since seen it in yourself)
Was it the first time you wanted to die.
Is it now?

if journalists weren't
           the whiney ******* to begin with...
   do i even have to provide
         a copyright infringement
                on a citing emily dickinson?
  just asking,
       because i wondered upon
seeing primary school pupils
             being taught: phalanx formation,
or the old tale of Noah:
        hand in hand...
hand upon hand to give a vote...
                i'm past thinking
about the hindu gods acting as
the gods: who taught people to tie
their shoelaces, subsequently
     pushing them into a sprint,
        that never resulted
                   into a gallop of a mustang...
well **** me,
      if that **** runs on a
            photosynthesis
                                  shortscript
that's grass and not a birch tree...
                                                    hug it.
i just see: eating dwarfs...
                  but it's not that,
a sunday supplement of a newspaper,
****, gott'ah have a cohort...
             magazine (i.e.) -
         i'm walking through a mirror labyrinth,
a minotaur to own my own:
   of what doesn't really regard
   scribbling graffiti...
                  but on a serious note...
     why is there a bother for trans-
trans-gender?
                      with every book review
i've read,
             it's a man reviewing a man's
book, e.g. john carey on steven pinker...
and there's
                   jackie annesley
on laura freeman...
          once "this" gets solved
it's going to become funny
watching inter-****** sporting
events, outside the realm of
tennis and curling...
                   without a thespian
attitude of: faking it.
   the modern age is seriously
epitomised by a woman giving
birth to a siamese twin...
      it's like which part do i ****
             and which head do i talk to?
you can't exactly fake it,
when boys read boy books,
and women read, girl books...
   oh look... a diminutive counter
to a martini: whatever the bartender
knows & does... without the shacken part...
       trigger ******* happy
from here on in...
                    or ear on a dog leash /
     fishing line...
                 ****... shay... shayken...
shacking or shackles?
                         shaking...
    but where's shay?
                             shay i, or should you,
answer that, question?
  must be a fantasy of a french speaking
princess with blonde hair
   and ***** hairs dyed blue...
      and a man with ****** hair:
otherwise known these days:
    bearded man: look at me - i'm dancing
naked!
                  well,
that's without the kangaroo hop or kick
attending to dr. pangloss...
   as read on the no. 86 bus
each morning in circa genesis of 21st
century.
          missing diacritical marks
is disorientating,
      but there's no chance of applying them
to english...
      because there are too many
particular instances when
they could be applied,
         subsequently there would be
no universal impetus for use...
              perhaps: archetypal
                                     familiarities?
arch and no arc...
                   i make an oath toward
YHWH...
                         gay ******* all day,
and i mean that in the "archaic"
                 substance / meaning of: gay.
hunk of a back, or hunchback?
   this is becoming
quantum physics ****...
                   c, k, q...
                          you look at it:
and it's a sound with the cipher C...
then you look away
   and it's a de-cipher that constitutes
K & Q...
                   buy hey...
              it's worth being a tourist
once in a while, not minding
this observation.

"Nothing is so healing as the human touch."


Started:    June 21, 2011
Finished:  August 14, 2011

"Nothing is so healing as the human touch."

Purportedly, the final words of Bobby Fischer, the reclusive, oft bizarre-acting Chess Grandmaster, whose life deserves your examination.  

I wasted decades of my life in a loveless, sexless, miserable marriage. I read his dying words, and the poem~notion was born, but the words had their own timetable and it made me crazy.

All the facts you need to read this old poem are now in your possession.
~-----------------------------------------------~
Mos­­t poems used to just tumble out,
Sudoku words combos,
Gunslinger I was,
poetically licensed to shoot
from the hip (the lip?).

Then you go mute, until that second,
When once again,
Machine gun stanzas fall like
Cheerios
Spilling all over the kitchen floor,
As they always do at Two Am
When quietude is in high season,
And the whole house is sleeping.

Once in awhile,
The title~idea recorded,
But the poem unwrit,
just won't come.
*** but no ******.

The words smack you,
Write me, I deserve it,
A challenged duel glove
Goes kissy kissy on your face,
But the words,
The choice of weapons
Eludes for weeks, months.  

So Bobby,
Your challenge
Long ago accepted,
But my reply imperfect,
Has lain bound and gagged,
A poem-in-progress
Hid in the trunk of my heart,
Unable to escape, even when
Escape attempted, unsuccessful.

From June till August moon,
Your dying words have been
A cancer growing, within,  
Hiding from my bullets
Invented to radiate,
Your final words, explicate,
Explode and expose.

Your life,
An essay on life in solitary,
Anti-social would immodestly describe your life best.

How came you then to exclaim,
Re the glories of human touch?

Ah a dying man's last regret,
A simple cri du couer,
Nothing extraordinaire,
A basic 101 shoulda/woulda
Of "I coulda done it better,"
What's the big deal?

Until this exact second,
Sunday rain jolted body from bed
Do I instant understand my obsession,
The import to me,
The need to capture
The haunt of the healing
Of your dying words.  

Life is small, miniaturized
When numbered in decades -
Five, six, seven,
Maybe,
Eight nine or even ten.  

How came I to pass so many,
Discarded whole decades,
Of the few we garner
Without the sustenance of
Human Touch?

How came I to allow this disaster to pass?

How did I advance to the next grade/decade,
When a failing grade was scarlet tattooed
In ****** scars upon my chest?

Would be easy to dismiss as just another whiney rant
That is no longer relevant to you,
Lies I told myself, no longer resonate, over, now.

Never.  

Everything matters.  

Summation.  Accumulation.

Day Counter Totals  reveal gaps of years
That cannot be refilled so your accounting
Must include a retelling of the
Wasted days and acknowledge with your dying breath,

Nothing is so healing as the human touch.
~~~~~~~
Happy 3rd Birthday poem.

I wish I was Stronger.
Handsome.
Attractive.

Instead of this whiney
Hopeless
*******.

The jester free styled about dealing grams under the tainted Charleston moonlight – Drug scene.
Whenever we discussed the existence of God, it always ended in a fight – The unseen.

The harlot was always type casted as the Rizzo, never the Sandy.
Who could forget those black leather pants, oh so tight – Street corner scene.

The king flirted with the innocent freshmen girls, unaware of the imminent restraining order.
He would joke about using the effervescent glow of his skin as their flashlight – Obscene.

The fair lady believed Tolkien was the closet humanity could ever get to godly perfection.
She was infamous for always tripping over the set, a common plight – Off scene.

The wizard dreamed one day to be the first black James Bond, code name Black Mamba.
One day he told me he liked women and men, except the whiney boys of white – Epicene.

You, the minstrel, sang the words to “Baby Got Back” in your high-pitched voice backstage.
You often told us “rawr” is dinosaur for I love you and everything will be alright – End scene.

I, the queen, tried to hide behind the black velvet curtain paralyzed by my stage fright.
But now, I just wish you hadn’t crashed your car into the tree that night – Unforeseen.

If my physical wellbeing is any kind of indicator
I'd say that I'm wibbly-wobbly, piney-whiney.

Benedict met Mrs Cleves
in one of those
out of town bars
and they had a few drinks

and she told him
about her ex and
what a ******* he was
and how he used

to mess around
with those air hostesses
(he being a steward on a plane)
and he'd even boast

how many of them
he had had that week
and Benedict listened
and drank his drink

knowing that after this
they would go back
to her place
and drink more

put on some Delius
on her hifi
and have ***
on the sofa

or maybe make it
to her bedroom
if time and passion allowed
but she talked on

about her ex
and how she met him
after she came
out of the convent

(Benedict couldn’t picture
that scenario)
all innocent and pure
and thought love

had been found
Benedict sipped
the last of his drink
noticing how her hair

was like that French queen
he’d read about
who’d had lost her head
on the guillotine

and still she yakked on
about the ex
how he liked
fast cars and women

and drank too much
and disliked
her Scottishness
or her whiney voice

Benedict wondered
what she was like
back then
before the pounds

had landed on her
before age
had begun to settled
into features

and remembered
that time they had ***
on the sofa
and they’d fallen off

( too much *****
or what he couldn’t now say)
and the downstairs neighbour
had banged up

from the room below
and she said
shut the **** up
you old hag

and all said
in her Glaswegian tones
and they lay there
on the floor

she **** naked
and he semi clothed
with Mahler’s 5th bellowing
in the background

and as he came back
from his thoughts
she was still talking
of the ex

and he wished
she'd finish up
her drink
to get back

to her place
for more ***** and ***.

Sometimes I don't feel very poetic,
and sometimes I just feel pretty pathetic,
because some days I feel like I'm doing fine,
but a moment later I want to just die,
because theres so much inside that I need to say,
but try as I might I can't find the right way,
because I feel so alone- Who could comprehend,
the pain, the pressure, the ache in my head,
so I just resort to going to bed,
but sleep never finds me, for it too has ditched,
and sometimes I just feel like a whiney *****,
because regardless of the ******* and all of this mess,
I know that ultimately I have been blessed,
it might take not weeks or months, rather years,
but I know one day will mark the end of my tears,
I might be at the bottom, the worst I could be,
but I've got my whole life still ahead of me.

I wish we had a president
That cared about the populace
Instead of one who's wants the law
To bankrupt almost all of us.
The one we have cares about
Only the super rich and the white.
He’s a ditzy mouthy narcissist
And  for sure that is not right!

It really wasn’t long ago
We went through this kind of fear
And now we are feeling sick
That terror is once again here.
This time we’re not afraid
Of people from another land.
Our country may be dying
But, again it’s by it’s own hand.

Part of it is stupidity and sloth
And part is just evil mindedness,
That either makes us look away
Or make others hate kindness.
Some of our parents trained us
To be big bullies and whiney brats.
And others ******* progress
By dissolving into brainless spats.

I wish we had a president
Like we have had in times gone by
Instead of one who is so happy
To pat his own back, cheat and lie.
It would give us all a chance
To avoid waging another war.
I wish we had a president
That knew what that job was for.

we’re seven years old again
it wasn’t such a danger to live in pretend

when running with scissors was the greatest crime
when nothing but ice cream was on the line
when the only thing broken was mom’s favorite vase
when we made a mistake, just stop and erase
when my brother and I fought about petty things
when it was a miracle for a butterfly to sprout wings
when we weren’t afraid to be wrong
when we listened to the radio and just sang along
when the skies were blue and the moon was bright
when the stars were what we thought of at night
when the biggest fear was the monsters under the bed
when we’d never regret a single word we said
when boys were weird and girls played with dolls
when we wanted to grow up and break from these walls

when we wished on stars and thought it would come true
when school was for drawing and flash cards and glue
when Band-Aids made the pain go away
when mom’s embrace made everything okay
when we wanted to ride a big kid bike
when the closest thing to love was like
when teachers were geniuses and parent knew it all
when we knew they were there to catch us if ever we may fall

when we could dance like no one’s watching
when we could talk like we didn’t care
when we could smile a thousand watt smile
when we could sing like no one’s there


snow was the greatest thing in the world
we didn’t count calories in birthday cake
we wanted a new toy for christmas
we ate dinner as a family
and mom and dad were the only ones in love


Looking back on that now, it seems we got our wish
We grew up, but its childhood we miss
Because now we’re all heartbroken and bleeding
Impatient
Whiney
Bruised
Needy
Pigs don’t fly and there’s no money on trees
Rainbows aren’t too colorful, sugar isn’t too sweet
Mom and Dad rarely talk and our teachers get us in trouble
Band-Aids and Mom’s hugs won’t keep us in a bubble

We were merely daydreaming, now we’re all about to fall
This is what we wanted, but we don’t want this at all

I hate that I know the location of the dumb moles on your back,

and that you told me about your grandmother's dementia,

or your mother's philosophy that no act is selfless,

I hate that you told me your most embarrassing secret,

or that you make me read cookbooks aloud on a Sunday morning, when I'm wearing nothing but your t-shirt from the night before, and every time I say a different ingredient you moan, or giggle, or gasp, or grab me and tell me how hot the way I say coriander is.

I hate that you wore ugly pajama pants around me,

I hate that you showed up, drunk, on my door step at 4am after ignoring me all night, and all you wanted to do was cuddle.

and that the next morning I called you a ****, and a ****, to your face, for making me so confused about whatever is going on with us.

I hate that you said "maybe we should take a step back, because I don't wanna be a ****"

(aka because you don't want a relationship.)

well, neither do I,

I never wanted this.

I was 4 months out of a 3 year relationship, enjoying my new found freedom.

I just woke up after a typical one night stand,
to all of my favorite things,
in one room,

your room.

I never wanted the guy I had been sleeping with at the time to turn off my "whiney pop punk", just to find the exact same cd in your collection days later.

I never wanted to find out that we have the same favourite bands, or that we both like films too much.

I never wanted you to offer to sneak home from work at 10am to drive me home, just so that I could have a few more hours sleep in your bed.

I never wanted to be attracted to a guy who is the total opposite from my usual "type",
or who reminds me of my dad.

I never wanted your best friend to tell me that he wants us to date, even though you're not ready for a relationship.

because I'm not either,

but now,

are we stuck attempting to casually **** other people to avoid what might be happening?

after all, in the span of one evening you ****** one best friend and I ****** the other.

I messaged you at 5am on Saturday,
after I'd had a ******* *******,
and you told me to come pick you up from some girl's house so that we could go back home to yours.

you told me that you didn't wanna hear my *** stories anymore.

you'd message me on a Monday afternoon, fishing to see if I'd ****** someone else on the weekend.

you told me one Saturday night that you wanted to spend the entire Sunday together, in your bed, watching Star Wars and ******* all day.

and that during the walk home, we could keep warm by making out.

you even messaged me to tell me that you kissed a girl, but that you then decided to go home and message me instead.

my friends have begun to hate you for all the head ******* you do to me,

and even after I changed your name back from "******" in my phone,
you still **** me around,

I don't even think you like The Smiths,
so I don't know why I care about you in the slightest,

I guess it must be because I think it's cute that when you talk about eating meat, you say the name of a vegetable instead, just to try and please me.

or maybe because whenever we are about to ****,
you say "tell me what you want"

and after I respond, I ask you
"what do you want?"
and all you moan to me is

"I want you".

or maybe just because we are kinda sexually compatible.

after all, you said the way I grab your **** is "magical".

our discussion last week, drunk, in the club bathroom.
when you yelled loudly about
how great I am in bed,
and how you hate your ****** job,
and that you've never been single as an adult,
and you just want to be free for once in your life.

and I said I was the same,
all I want is a life free of consequence,
doing whatever I want to do.
no
strings

we agreed that we both wanted the same thing,
and then you watched me leave with another guy.



I have to stop myself from thinking about the things that you say or do,
because I'm confused enough as it is.

like the fact that you messaged me to apologise for not having sober *** with me saturday morning,

or that you finally went down on me for the first time friday night,
(it only took you 3 months)
(some stupid part of me thinks it's because you like me,
but my common sense tells me otherwise),

I honestly don't know what we are doing,

and you probably don't either.

Hello, my name is David Phlegmister. I am much too self-aware. I also have no ******* idea who I am. My intestines twist and turn just like yours. I think I must have a pretentiously metaphorical tapeworm. Everything I do or say is backed by either anger or curiosity, and in spite of this I am somehow not in jail. I try too hard. I don't try hard enough. I care too much but I still don't give a ****. I wont tell you I'm hungry even though I havent eaten since yesterday. No, really, it's fine, I'm not hungry.My hands and feet are too big for my body.
Seriously, *******, I'm not ******* hungry
I drink black coffee and smoke cigarettes but I swear to god I'm not an egotistical existentialist. My mom tells me that I'm too skinny but dont worry I'm not hungry. Smells **** me up.
I can still smell your perfume and I can still smell your *****.
Your feelings dont matter because we all die eventually.
Boo hoo, get the **** over it.
Everything you stand for is a lie. God isn't real, your government hates you, status is meaningless.
Jokes on you so **** yourself.
I'm sixteen years old in an Aberdeen-esque hellhole.
I'm a highschool dropout
My old school was a cesspool of AXE body spray and ****** ****.
My friends all want to **** themselves and I don't blame them.
I'm an ******* in my own right, but I don't know about yours.
Im still waiting for someone who doesn't have to fix me to love me.
I whine and ***** about whiney ******* and wonder why I hate myself. I've come to terms with the fact that I'm going to be a ******.
Reality is not, and will not, ever suffice.
It will never satisfy.
Never bring contentedness.
Theres no denying that I will be hooked on whatever unrefined, kidney-****** junk I can get my filthy hands on. Marijuana got boring fast.
I hate routine. I hate sameness. I feel too ******* much so I punish myself for it.

I AM NOT A ******* PIECE OF ART

I'm your aborted ******* son.
My fingernails are too short.
I lie to people who care about me
and I don't know if its for
my sake
or theirs.
I'm the elephant in the room of conservative christian right wing baby boomers.
I CANNOT and WILL NOT do what is expected of me.
I don't fit in.
Thank god.
Don't wanna be a starry eyed, brain dead statistic.
Sometimes I don't sleep on purpose just because I don't deserve to.
I don't owe you a ******* thing. I have nothing to prove and nothing to give.

**IMNOTHUNGRYIMNOTHUNGRYIMNOTHUNGRY

Living life without you,
Not so bright.

If I think too much, slow down, allow myself to think about the absence,
.
I can't do it.

So I work til I sleep. I watch Netflix to the point of oblivion to everything around me.

You would not be proud.
.
There is no joy.
No beauty.

I am what I hate. I am nothing like you.
I want to be better I want to change but there's nothing left. it seems all the happiness you took with you is impossible to replace you took with you all my joy my dream my words my friends nobody can understand nobody can helpI'm doing something just so you know taking a yoga class try to make friends but in the quiet I know you're not there when I stop running working sleeping watching I know how much I've lost and how little I have left and you are the only one person I could have talked to you about it you could have helped me by just existing I don't have you and I don't have anyone this is so debilitatingbeing alone this is such a whiney whiney rants so selfish and pointless because no matter how many words no matter how much I try to think and process and feel it doesn't f** matter because you still won't be here and sometimes I don't think I can make it through but ultimately I have to because you doing what you did made it so painfully obvious that we are responsible for each others happiness responsible to each other to stay alive just one can set off the chain and I won t be that one.

After giving up on homework
I'm going to write a poem
About what I have done
And where I am
And what is my worth

Those are questions on my conscious
Right now, I don't have the time
This why I want to take
A mental photograph

I want to take a snapshot
Of the single moments
Where my mind is off
Leaving the feeling Melancholy
To sweep up.
A time where I sit and wonder
What my point is anymore.

Of the times when my Mind
Comes in from a late day
At work
And the traffic was bad
And there was no promotion
Nor bonus nor reward
For the extra work
He had put in this week.
So he plops himself on the sofa
And his on the couch
Drinking yet another can of beer

In the kitchen
His wife Conscious cries
As she puts away the candles
And stows away the meal.
A romantic meal is all she wants
Mind will not put in the work
This was not the man she loved
Not this burnt out corpse

I wonder why I keep going on
Why I keep pushing myself forward
There's nothing special about me
I'm just a normal mortal

When I look into the mirror
I see flesh and bone
And tired eyes
I see acne and scars
And razor cuts
I do not see a god,
A creature that's special.
Just a simple human
Not worth all the hype
Not worth a penny more
Than all his peers
Actually, probably
Worth a penny less

You who read this might think
Is he depressed
Sick
A whiney *****?
The answer is
At times to all

I'm merely just a
Tired
Burnt
Angsty
Teenager.
With the constant nagging thought
What have I done?
Where am I?
Am I worth all the compliments?
Am I worth all the insults?
Am I worth anything at all?
For even teens
Filled with angst
Can question themselves sometimes

So I'm filing this snapshot
Along with all my more coherent ones
Is this a good idea?
I hardly read the work.
Oh who ******* cares
This is more for me
Than for you

Within a month you told me "Baby I love you so". You were the first boy who ever told me that, this you know. And this won't be the first time, and before I waste another line, I've got to tell you no. And you know why, cuz you're insane and clingy and I'm a waste of your time. Time to be disillusioned darling, cuz you're way too needy!-And I'm pleading- let me go.

So this is how I'm telling you to move on. I wrote you another ****** song. And I know, that it was really ******, so cold and mean of me, to say it to you this way. But I won't regret a single word I say. So move on. Trust me you'll feel better when I'm gone.

You think I'm so sweet, your perfect sugarplum. Well babe how can that be true when all I do is make you glum? You want to hold me tight but you make me want to punch you every single night. Oh thank God, you'll never be mine.

So this is how I'm telling you to move on with your life. I wrote you a ****** song so you'd listen up this time. And I know, that it was so **** ******, so cold of me, to put it to you this way. But I won't regret a single thing I've said today. Just move on. Trust me you'll feel better when I'm gone.

So take a word of advice, I won't sugarcoat it or say it nice. You really gonna make tell you twice? To move on!

You don't love me, don't be absurd. You think you're the only one who was ever hurt? You're so selfish, so ******* demanding. You asked too much of me so I'm telling you I'm done. Forever! I wipe my hands of you as friend or as lover. To tell you the truth, I never wanted either.

And now I'm telling you, to move, the ****, on. Yeah all I did was write you a really ****** song.
And I know, that it was really ******, so cold and mean of me, to tell you in this way. But you're annoying as hell, dumb and whiney as well. You think I'm nice, but just hear my last advice: leave me alone. Bye-bye, you'll be better once you move on. Yeah leave me alone.

Always grateful
"Thanks for hurting my feelings,"
"Thanks for not listening
Thanks for letting me down"
Um...
" You're welcome, and thanks for blowing my good mood."

You think I want to be this way?
Lonely, afraid and depressed.
The muted light cannot shine through the window anymore.
You think I blocked it out.

So I'm asking for it then?
According to you, I'm petty and whiney
Like a lost dog or a child.

And speaking of children,
It was my fault that he touched me then too.
Seven years old, but yet, I should have known better.
As if by some gift of God, I'd know to resist.

These are the elixirs society has force fed me.

1) I walk five miles deep into the woods in the back of the yellow house with my brother so that we can watch the flies circle around the bodies of the dead cows: their hanging limbs, their loose tongues. The air hangs like a boy’s arms around my shoulders. My brother and I both wear shorts.
2) Inventory: one tractor in the yard. One truck in the driveway. One driveway, gravely like the throats of my father and grandfather. They both live in the yellow house. At night I stay up late listening to their screams. They sound like owls’ heads or hurricanes.
3) Father sees a different woman each day. They all have blonde hair like mine. Eyes brown and crumbling and whiney like mine, too. Mother left when I was three years old. Brother and I still aren’t sure if Father means she’s dead or if she just ran away, but we’ve yet to see a tombstone.
4) We go to church every Sunday. The pews press against the back of my sticky legs and white dress. Charlie eyes me from across the aisle and I do my best to focus on the head in front of mine.

Daddy asked the doctor why I wouldn't speak. He asked if I was autistic. He said he didn't want a stupid child, he didn't know I could hear him, this was at three

Daddy always said his little girl would grow up and be happy, four.

Daddy said his little girl would get whatever she needed, five.

Daddy said he had someone over and that I didn't need anything at that moment, to just go to sleep, six.

Daddy and I didn't talk much this year, he was always passed out surrounded by beer cans when I got home from school, seven.

Daddy saw my trophy from performing arts, he threw it at the ground claimed Arts never make it, eight.

Daddy didn't feed me after this year. I began to have to feed myself, I got thinner, and thinner. Operating was hard, especially during the summer. School days were gone, I didn't get school lunch. I fainted often, hypoglycemia is a curse, nine.

Daddy yelled at me in the yard, I began shaking rapidly not knowing why I couldn't control my body. My neighbor called an ambulance to rush me to the hospital. The doctors said it was a seizure, he said I was faking. He yanked the iv out of my skin and made me get into the car, ten.

Dad told me that someone stole my birthday money this year. He grabbed his whiskey bottle and poured another glass and motioned for me to go to my room. I was too young to notice that money was feeding his habit, eleven.

I came home to dad with a trophy from our school play, I won best portrayal. He snatched the trophy, as I was walking away it smashed on the door frame beside me, twelve.

Dad popped the pills for my anxiety, things got worse. It was as if he wasn't there. He tugged on my long sleeve shirt and asked how I could always wear these, that I must always be hot, he had no clue, thirteen.

Dad fell asleep, I took his alcohol and threw it at the side of the house so it would bust. I didn't want another night with this, he saw, the next day I woke up. I was on the floor with a concussion, fourteen.

Father told me I didn't need anything, I was old enough to get a job, I should get one and stop being so whiney, fifteen.

Jason found out his baby girl didn't feel like he was a girl, even though he scolded me for not being a boy when I was younger. The next morning before Class began . I borrowed my friends make-up to cover a bruise. I told her it was only my clumsiness. She bought it. Sixteen.

Jason isn't a part of my life anymore, but he still haunts me to this day.. All the years have done damage. Now a boy sits on the edge of his bed fighting off demons from the insanity which you gave him. No one needs to deal with this at the age of seventeen.

Today I heard a song in passing--
newly dazed lights doo-wopping,
whiney vibratory strings caught
in throaty cries.
Pausing for station identification
on a new planet.
Incessant preciousness tripping
over the fact of a tiny body.
You were born atop a storefront's
air conditioner, I never saw baby
pigeons in New York City before.
Some people here call them flying
rats, **** em--happy belated birthday.

Is it bad that change myself to conform with society?
That I’ve changed so much
I’ve forgotten the real me?
Sure, society is changing
But I want to be the REAL me NOW.
Not to sound bratty or whiney,
But it’s been long enough of people hiding behind false smiles
And fake laughter
Of people hiding behind a persona they make for themselves
We want to be who we want now.
When’s it going to happen?
When can I walk into school
Without fear of being bullied for what I wear
When can I walk the streets
Without fear of being *****
When can I walk into a room
Without judging stares
When will any of this happen?
Is it bad I’ve created a false image of myself?
That I fear being judged so much
That I changed everything about myself,
That I can’t remember what the real me looks like
I used to be a sweet, somewhat girly kid.
Now, I dress like a boy
So not to get others attention,
I intimidate the **** out of others
So not to get bullied for being small,
I don’t show feeling,
So not to be judged for being weak.
I just want to be the real me,
Just once in my life without fear
Of what others will say.

pain takes hold again
and I sit disturbed
not understanding why
I feel like such **** –
looking at 40 years
of systematic body abuse
from the hardest drugs
to the worst foods
lack of regular exercise
mingled with attitude –
irritated joints combine
with a furrowed brow
and crooked teeth
to create an image
of despair and anguish
as I attempt again
to rebuild this mess
into a prize of humanity –
silver whiskers and a stigmatism
misshapen nostril
and a **** chin
look back from the
cracked mirror
I am inferior –
beating myself up
over a belly devoid of beer
and the ever thinning
and receding hairline
I no longer feed my ego
as it sits starving
and neglected
rejected by the woes of aging –
enraged and feeling caged
I desire to fly free with Mya
but death is no repose
only an entry into the next phase
is existence really worth the trouble –
lamenting has taken its toll
and feeling like a whiney *****
I make the quick decision
to stop this nonsense --

Down a
forgotten lane
in a canyon of corn,
a blue ban calls new life to this
old world.

Gather
around the stall.
Don't let the foal's whiney
be an unanswered question to
live ears.

Shaky
legs held us all
when we were fresh and blind
Take pride in teaching to see a
new soul