i'd do anything to be with youi cannot eat my cereal because my tears, too thick,i'd do anything to be with you in Free Verse More Like This
are ruining the flavour... with a "u", because all i want is...
you are perfect for me. okay ? motherfucking perfect.
my missing piece, my truelove, the one i'd do anything
for. now i am listening to all the songs that make me
think of you, just trying to hold on. i know you think
that i deserve better, but no... i don't even deserve you.
i don't deserve your heart. but here, take mine anyway.
if i can't have you, i don't want anyone. i would feel like
i were cheating.
please don't tell me it's not my fault.
i don't want to sounds obsessed, but
i would rather have no life than to be
without you. please, please, please.
understand. the milk in my bowl is
soggy like my heart, the one that you
have for the rest of time, and i just
can't enjoy a spoonful of rejection.
please, please, please. give this
a shot. for me. please.
the importance of the s in sexi do not like the ironythe importance of the s in sex in Free Verse More Like This
of trying to get over someone
by getting on top of them.
if IRONY friend requested me on facebook,
i would deny, block, and mark as spam.
as i might have said a billion poems ago,
i have a restraining order against IRONY
however that dumb bitch still manages
to scare the living shit out of me
antagonistic, i have no pulse.hold on.antagonistic, i have no pulse. in Free Verse More Like This
hold onto what?
hold onto me, hold me,
when nothing else matters
because my arms are open 24/7
25/7 actually, even that extra hour
on the longest day of the year
because that's how special you are
(to me? i guess. but i never know
if i guess correctly or not)
"wait, did you say something important/poetic/meaningless?"
"hold on a second, i'm busy."
well, i've never held onto a second;
time always slip through my fragile
fingertips. never held onto an hour
either. or an our. a your? fuck you
pronouns. just hold onto something
(i'm a thing; hold me) hold me like a
second. for a second. instead? you
hold me like a second-place trophy;
for a second-best, runner-up (no, i'm
walking down, head down, just down)
i told you i'd wait that extra hour for you,
but holding onto this second is too much
even for me. sorry, but it's closing time.
disappointment isnt a papercutit's eleven numberfucking eleven,disappointment isnt a papercut in Free Verse More Like This
and i'm listening to Fever, and all
i wish is i could smother the stars
with bandages and predictability.
and Vanilla Twilight just came on,
and you just texted me, and all i
can do is cry and hate myself.
drawing hipbones is not poetici could imagine my lipsdrawing hipbones is not poetic in Free Verse More Like This
kissing your paint hips;
i could sketch my ilium
or swallow your helium
but a bouquet of flowery rhetoric
and rose-prose won't make you
want me anymore than you want
to be shackled to a cage in a zoo
like some bloated balloon animal
bloated balloon animal:
that's all i am, isn't it?
i swear i've written a poem like this a million times already.
same shit, different person; same shit, different heartache.
same words; different context. same emotions, same pain.
i'm about to explode--your touch is a pinprick. pop goes my heart.
i wish i could write this a happy ending but life ain't fiction. the end
if love is blind, stab my eyesOh, all the glorious tragedies I'veif love is blind, stab my eyes in Free Verse More Like This
seen today, all within ten minutes:
A guy holding a bouquet. An expected
box of European chocolates shaped
like a heart, naturally. A stuffed
bear. A couple holding hands. A boy
kissing his girlfriend's soft cheek.
A girl carrying pink balloons. Oh.
I'm alone, naturally. How awkward.
Eyelid umbrellas hold back rain,
torrents of gushy-mushy romance.
A metaphoric flood; stormclouds.
Walking from Point Envy to Point
Facing down, arms crossed. Eyes
on the ground. Please, no optic
tidalwave leakage. What's this?
Stop: step on a blue candyheart.
Facing down, thank God. Thank
God, not Cupid. Not that dumb
St. Valentine. Not a cordiform
morsel of sugary conversations,
spreading one-liners older than
this holiday. Kiss Me. Miss me.
XOXO. Love Ya. Detour: stomp.
Saccharine aorta vs. my shoe heel
(not Achille's, but same difference)
What? You want to know who won?
Are you kidding? Y
waldo ? nope, another impostorfinding your soulmatewaldo ? nope, another impostor in Free Verse More Like This
is harder than winning
waldo and carmen san
diego. finding a needle
in a haystack is twenty
times easier. hell, it is
easier finding a needle
in an insane asylum:
a ghost-white room,
god i must be crazy.
every damn time i think i've finally found
my waldo, it turns out to be a phantasm,
a mirage, a fraud. tricked, again. it's just
another lookalike in candycane pinstripes
in a two-page world of straitjacket horror
(freddy krueger ain't got shit on me)
i bet someone stole all the where's waldo
books off the shelves in my aortic library,
cutting out the real waldo. photo albums
with missing heads from my past regrets,
this must be how waldo feels -- forgotten.
one can only hide for so long before even
olly olly oxen free loses meaning.
where in the world is my waldo?
gnashing jukeboxes in my teethmy boombox mouth ch-ch-chattersgnashing jukeboxes in my teeth in Free Verse More Like This
at the taste of your tapdancing lips
you choreographed every kiss,
every promise, every iloveyou;
every word, a radio frequency
playing me, playing the song i
requested. but this is not the
studio version. this is a cheap
limewire ripoff of a low-quality
demo, this is used dental floss
and novacaine mp3 files.
sorry, but my teeth want the real thing.
what to bring to the afterlifewhat to bring to the afterlife in Free Verse More Like This
the crushkill conundrum:
i hate seeing you happy
and you love seeing me upset;
so the happier you get,
the more i hate it,
the happier you get,
i hate it
when you smile.
no, i won't talk to you unless you talk to me,
but you won't talk to me unless i talk to you
first. it's because you deplete all my enzymes.
second. because between the two, i came (in)
third. because there's no chance:
no way in hell--no way in heaven--
will we kiss beneath the big dipper.
and there's no way in or out of either
when you're a coldhearted masochist.
the purgatory paradox:
poetry is the biggest sin of all,
so we're both damned to hell,
yet evermore suffering is paradise
to a linguistic masochist like you,
like the 'we' that's damned
to never be.
"we'll be together until hell freezes over"
you told me once. i believe i was asleep.
my blizzard-heart could petrify the flame.
too bad, i gave it to you the day i pulled the trigger.
confessionmy writing is justconfession in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the questions that i never
wanted to answer