the lesser me
is always present
my positive proclamations
will be overshadowed
by a nagging feeling of
not good enough
not pretty enough
not skinny enough
not smart enough

no...
scratch that
i'm always smart enough
     pfft
actually
i'm smarter than...most

so...

we're back too
pretty
         skinny...

such shallowness

that's me?
is that really how i feel?
                                    me?

this overly wordy
exceedingly articulate
totally capricious
me?

imma gonna step back a bit
lemme reevaluate
reassess
and gauge
this
'lesser than me" ****

i AM all that
i AM smarter than most
i AM ******' writin' my poems for the whole ******* world to see!

so...

take that
my weak,
cowardly
'inner' self

you, uh, me, uh i...
need to ball up
and show the world

that i am
ALL THAT

and then some...

imagination
is a funny thing
and getting lost in the hallucinatory bliss
of a fantasy
may become ethereal

our minds
are moldable
   & viscous
the formation
directed
by a mere thought

   or thoughts...
that sometimes
consume
envelope
suffocate
inhabit
our very soul

floating through
an imaginary world
keeps us lost
   saves us
protects us
from the harsh reality
of what
really is.

there is only me
in my life

i love me
want me
caress me
yearn for
me

if you
can give me
me

i will be with
you

for me
alone.

i am consumed
with anger
   resentment
a disturbing need
for revenge
my body cries out
  for hurt
   cast upon
    another
and it makes me
uncomfortable
a personal insult
or something taken
as which
cannot be forgotten
cannot be ignored
cannot be cast aside
as something that
                                        is
i envy the person that can
and i laugh at the person that will
brush the intended dig
to the side
           ignored
      shrugged at

but me

i will get even
i will accomplish
peace of mind
by dishing out
what i was given

it's only right...right?
'cuz we all've heard
karma...

it's a *****.

grazing through words
i am distracted
after the first sentence
i am not thrilled
i am not awakened
i am bored
with the trivialities
of the normally written
verse.


a broken heart
a good poem
does not make.

a gathering

at first glance
innocent enough

hardened smiles
seemed made of
plaster

not one of which
wants to know
the other

riding the ebb
of familiarities

nodding heads
of blank faces

not caring
       nor curious
but always
agreeable

a gathering

yes

of a room full of
complete strangers.

blown torches
roads traveled
crosses bared

sleepless nights
uneasy meetings
shallow hello's

round about ways
wishy washy
ovations
that don't mean a thing

cowardice
that shouts the intent
without speaking a word

any intentional
accident
is seen as
a calculated
delusion.