Collin had a bit of a melt down a few minutes ago
He is in time out now.
You can't just spill juice on the floor, Collin.
No ghost tricks without my permission.
Four year olds are the biggest handfuls.
I am ignoring his constant attempts to get my attention.
Ugh
Parenting.

Like the chef who hates to eat
The playwright who cannot act,
The clothing designer, a nudist,
The brave hero, so shy, a stammerer,
The musician, a deaf mute,
The architect, who live in a tent,
I am a writer who hates to type, for his fingers disconnect his eyes, his brain his insane

I am the father, who knows not his own children,

I am the man who hates to shave, and shaves twice daily,

The man who knows nothing of nature, but writes
in and of it constantly.                                                      ­

The man beset by endless money worries,
Who gives his capital away to charity in increments of thousands,

I am the man that never passes a street beggar,
Even the obvious frauds,
Without giving them a bill, and a god bless you,

I am the man that would gladly die young whose
Mother lived to ninty eight and gene'd up him good,

I don't know what you want from me.

I write to please. But I seem incapable of
Giving, paving streets with words you what u want to hear.

Moon, June, pill, ****, me me me be crap on this

I am the chef who cannot cook
The nudist ashamed of his body
The stammered into silence
The mute who screams inside till deaf with frustration
I writer of thin air, the unfair. I know not what
You want of me.

But I weep with frustration at the paucity of my expression,
Good god my final destination not close enough

In the hands of strangers, rejection
In mine own, verbal strangulation
Even

Whatever

Is
Insufficiently
Disdainful

Painful
I cannot give you enough of/if me to satisfy

What is it you want from me

I will write to displease

Why not do
What I do best
Anyway
Secure that this voice
Is lost among the voices
Answering

*whatever

In the darkness, filled with pain,
memories are all that remain.
Remembering the days that once was,
doing things, well just because.
I've awoken in this wooden grave,
its to late now, you can't save.
Thinking I'm dead, but not quite sure,
maybe I'm alive, on a six foot under tour.
There is no bright light, in case you're wondering,
trust me, cause I'm endlessly searching.
Not really sure how I died,
my friend and family, alive they cried.
Didn't wanna be buried in a wooden box,
wanted my ashes spread, where I took my walks.
I can't see a stairway to heaven,
I hope that answers everyone's question.
There is no highway to hell,
if there was, I'd surely stop at the famous California hotel.
I used to believe in reincarnation,
but now the maggots have started their infestation.
Never did make out a living will,
sometimes life is a bitter pill.
Not sure if I ever said my last goodbyes,
but I can feel tears dripping from my eyes.

I am unafraid tonight

To write and sign my real name.

To like what I read which is almost everything here
For the sake, for the pain, for the unashamed, for just
Celebrating those who breathe life for the just
Trying.

I am unafraid tonight

To disclose that I live as an
Agonist
In a city that ghost taps on my windows,
( thank you Ilion gray for that),
When the quiet is pockmarked by so many crying the
Loudest tears.

I am unafraid tonight
To express my dissatisfaction with you.

I am unafraid tonight
To express the miracle of those across oceans,
And across town,
Welcoming me into their hearts and wonder
Where else do the wayfarers gather

I am I am
unafraid tonight
To curry your favor,
Despise your silence
Expose corners of me
That should be buried
Before my body later follows

I am unafraid tonight
To use or abuse punctuation
For their are spaces and ,
Between us that can and cannot be closed
But I am compelled to try to narrow the differences
For
I am unafraid tonight

Tomorrow, we shall see,
If the shale within can yet be fractured,
Brought to the surface
To be consumed,
Or the fractures spread
Destructing the whole.

But tonight,
I am unafraid.