Never think that dead leaves cannot speak.
Words can be uttered without mouth or beak.
Come in heard to hear and they'll remain mum.
To hear them in solitude you need to come.

Loneliness and silence are their best friend.
You can listen only if truth you seek and intend.
If you've mind and heart to listen, men of clay!
Words more worthy than living they can say.

If your heart is strong and if you have no fear.
Then in storms they are very loud, very clear.
And if your heart is weak in breeze come near.
Truth of this life they will whisper in your ear.

148

All overgrown by cunning moss,
All interspersed with ****,
The little cage of “Currer Bell”
In quiet “Haworth” laid.

Gathered from many wanderings—
Gethsemane can tell
Thro’ what transporting anguish
She reached the Asphodel!

Soft falls the sounds of Eden
Upon her puzzled ear—
Oh what an afternoon for Heaven,
When “Bronte” entered there!

And I should have joined a masquerade.
Believe me.
I wore masks all the time.

I am sick of writing sad poems.
I want to write a happy poem.
My only problem is,
I don’t know how to.

I mean,
if I were funny it would be one thing,
but my humor consists of bad puns knock knock jokes.
Knock knocking on the inside of my brain wanting to push a smile onto your faces but the only look I get back is confusion because I can never seem to get my tongue to work in times of...
In times when a belly laugh would come from their abdomen and satisfy my hunger for becoming a comical genius.

Heres a joke for you.

Knock Knock.

“Who’s there?”

Orange

“Orange who?”

Knock knock.

“Who’s there?”

Orange

“Orange who?”



Orange you glad I didn’t finish my joke?
I keep my tongue dormant so the punchline doesn’t come out wrong,
to save myself from the embarrassment of being an idiot.
I’ll laugh it off,
but n my head I hear myself say.
“Max, what the hell was that?”
Listen, brain, I know I’m not funny,

I get my humor from either my dad or the internet,
and even then,
Tuna fish and pianos,
Oranges, apples, any kind of fruit really,
couldn’t even save me.

Three men walk into a bar.
I don’t know how they didn’t see it but that isn’t my problem,
my problem is that I am not funny, or a cool pal to hang out with.
In all honesty,
I’m pretty much a stick in the mud that wears hoodie sweatshirts every day.

So the next time I come knock knocking,
I advise you to shut the door.

Dear Friend,
It's been a long time since we last talked
I just wanted you to know I'm trying
Did you hear that?
I'm trying
I'm trying so hard you lousy *****
I'm trying because you told me I wasn't
But you've probably forgotten that, haven't you?
But friend, you'll never know how those words felt
Like ice and salt pressed to my skin until they left a scar
A scar that always screams to me I'm not trying hard enough
Because I always wanted to be good enough for you
I always wanted to be perfect enough for you
I always wanted to be enough
For you
But writing this letter I realize I never will be
Because you probably won't even read this
Maybe if I wrote this in my own ******* blood would you pay attention
Because then you'd know it's from the heart
But no, you'll just continue to talk about yourself
Your problems
Your life
You, you, you, you, you
But that's not good enough
And maybe I'm not the one not trying hard enough
Maybe it's you
Maybe you're not trying hard enough to be a decent person
Now the tables have turned
So I'll say it one last time
Dear Friend,
I now wonder what those 6 little letters mean when I write them down on paper
Is it possible I'm not trying hard enough to understand them?