Taking this junkWe are the pills-as-candyMore Like This
kids. The screwed up,
generation. We prescribe ourselves
Prozac, Zoloft, Aterol, anything.
We become our own rock 'n roll nurses,
shooting up drugs into our scalps,
only this time, Johnny, it's not
heroin. No side effects like that;
more subtle, more addictive, more cool.
We flaunt our pills. We wave them
in the air like banners, like the scars
on our arms, flaunting our self-
mutilation. Blood pouring down our
cheeks, darling, believe me I know
what it feels like; you're not alone.
Saying things like that is pointless.
It only feels like it's not a lie.
Drugs for entertainment is not
enough. Marijuana is not rebellion,
it's normalcy. We get drunk in
the bathroom during lunch, swearing
it's iced tea, lying. Saying that it
doesn't taste like nail polish remover,
saying we enjoy it, saying we're not
too scared to get drunk. We're not
I hate love poemsI hate love poems.More Like This
I am sick to death with,
"How soft are his lips",
"The curve of her hips",
I don't want to hear about these fallacies you build up in your head,
And write in your little black book to show your friends,
Pretending you're some great poet.
The world is filled with billions of topics, and yet,
Nine times out of ten,
Amateurs, with their books of words
And rhyming dictionaries,
Chose to write about an emotion, a fear of loneliness.
"Her golden hair",
"His chocolate stare",
I can't take it anymore.
One at a time, you march onto stage, and squint in the glaring spotlight
As you smile at the faceless, dark audience
And pour out your thoughts on love
With bad rhyming and questionable syncopation.
Poem after poem after poem
"I feel his hands upon my neck",
"When you're gone I am a wreck",
And I sit there, on that itchy green sofa and wish
With every single bone in my body,
Going past the bones and wishing with every inch of myself,
That I was anywhere but here.