kringle.should i be smiling as the christmas tree shrinks?
america's sistine chapel full of fat basketball angels
absolution in six easy payments of twenty five ninety nine.
should i feel shame that jesus is in a survival backpack
for the next apocalypse? it's miniature and mother is
sharing videos of soldier presents.
drop the faithless adolescent bomb over a dead bird feast.
winter's in a dead heat with loneliness
and i'm drawing a finish line
but even sharpies fade with skin.
i'm peeling off my wrapping your gift is entrails.
sorry i don't pour water like a fountain.
hot piss on the black friday mailers.
should i be worried about should when i live in the
united states of hedonism? i am the godless one
but its easy to be a jesus freak and still listen to lil wayne.
should i try to understand the twisting that snow brings
to arthritic fingers clutching remote controls
like scepters to thrones?
O Dan Rot.Dan Rot, a manO Dan Rot.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of considerable comic timing
who came on rackety wings around the globe
in thirty days or so,
visiting once again with a night on his heels
copping feels on innocent ladies pillowed in bathtubs,
i was black like night
and i was ringed in rainfall
i was so glorious
a spiraling psyche led me to one thing
and this town never could have contained me
a spinning science to my insanity
bends in the system and curves of the power lines
a beauty to plywood and splinter breaks that cannot be defined
bends in the path, a northward slide
strand you in a parking lot
i was vicious and viscous
and i was perfect
as i die i know you have too
as i fade over snapped trees
all is quiet and all is dead
and i curved away.
Ms. Civit, a woman
of considerable jazz influence
who culled in her snatch fifty thousand
squirming little nothings
ravished by the callous allure of Mr. Rot
(who raped her mercilessly,)
on the ground on the ground and the fever is rising
upside down min
Being Gay: Sin or Burden?My life is torn between heart and mind;Being Gay: Sin or Burden?5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Do I really sin with every blink of my eye?
I wondered if my sexuality counted
Towards my sins left in a heaping mountain.
So I closed my eyes to block out my life
To see past this world of evil and strife:
I imagined myself in a world without sin
Where I tried to imagine the life that I'd live.
What would be the same and different?
How I would feel about my old life spent
In hatred and the failings of man,
My past life spent in deserts of sand.
I imagined this world of so-called perfection
But deep in my mind, I begged the questions
What is sin? Does the Bible show?
What is evil? Does the world know?
Is it the Ten Commandments? Murder and Greed?
Is it being gay, drinking beer, or smoking weed?
If so then my imagined world
Would not be like this life unfurled,
For I have done the things of which it speaks
I have sinned just in this past week.
But what if sin is a definition?
A human idea with human disposition?
What if the stuff we shouldn't do
What I Feel InsideI feel as though I'm flat,What I Feel Inside5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A dimensionless soul.
The world sees me like that:
I'm a word, I'm a role.
I'm the boy that likes boys,
I'm the kid that looks like Nick Jonas,
I'm the nice guy, the one you'd enjoy,
I'm the one who writes poems online.
I'm this and I'm that
And I have to be something;
The world sees me
And says, "I have seen you before,"
And it acts like it knows me,
And like I have no core.
I'm defined and dissected
And I'm no longer me;
They make me directed
And they don't see how I see.
I'm this and I'm that
And I have to be something;
But I let it be, oh I do.
I lie in bed and try to hide
I let them say what they want to
And I don't let anyone inside.
It's more my fault than anything,
That I let it stay like this;
I should tell everything
That might make me real:
I'm afraid of dying alone
I'm not able to keep everyone happy
I'm afraid of my future
And I'm scared to mess up
I'm so angry that I'm
SICK AND TWISTEDThis is the story of the boy who was hated,SICK AND TWISTED7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
by those whom he didn't even know their name.
Meek, weak, humiliated, discriminated,
all for a few laughs between friends.
Music up loud, on the bus every morning,
but still, through the screaming he could hear what they say.
Insulting his looks, his beliefs, his ways,
Such things as "EMO", "Go cut",
and "OMG are you gay?"
Few friends, not enough.
Small cuts, not enough.
Master plan, too much
Unable to cry from these sad eyes.
Tears of blood,
crying to die
Draw a knife,
end their life.
Revenge with cold steel.
As their blood sprays the walls,
as their bodies fall,
a smile upon his face.
Their screams his music.
Their blood his paint.
As he paints the walls,
A blood red.
As he ends his own,
satisfaction he finds.
Lying among the juices,
From unintelligent minds.
A low murmur from blood red lips,
sick and twisted too late,
Sick and twisted,
i was the infidelyou told me you wanted to live forever.i was the infidel4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i said there is no life without death:
there is simply being.
you taught me about airplanes and liveliness and
how to jump out a window without twisting my ankles.
sometimes you would tell me about persia
or how a hot air balloon stays aloft,
but that was when you had fire to keep you floating.
you lent me a book last fall.
i put it in my room and
swore i'd read it later, but
when i went back to look for it i realized
i had lost it, before i even
cracked the cover.
i told you and you weren't angry; you just smiled
and said that all things lost are eventually found.
last week you kissed her, long and sweet, under the crucifix:
tracing fish in the sand with your bare feet. fingers intertwined.
it was then i knew that you were gone and you had lied:
not all lost things can be found.
yesterday i found the book you gave me,
collecting dust at the back
of my bookshelf. i wanted to pick it up
and put it in the drawer where i keep hidden things;