To stir from my complacency
With the words as my compulsion,
Poems feel like a eulogy
Of my not-dead-yet emotion.

I write to be a memory
For either fondness or for ill,
With words of perpetuity
So that no reader’s heart is still.

The solemn thoughts trapped in my head,
My fingers type to let them out,
So my embarrassment is read
By strangers I know not about.

Writing with ego’s delusion
That when I die my words survive,
But my ironic conclusion
Is that I write to stay alive.

Poems that rhyme are boring
They’re actually quite silly
Who would really take time out of their day
To do something so *****

Poems that rhyme are stupid
Inventing words like in children’s books
I’m a proper poet, not Dr.Seus
I shake my head, ”cadook”

Splayed out atop the the table, stupefied,
Etherized, dreaming anything but excision,
Witness the specimen's unnatural habitat.
Life stains the whole of its existence -
See the sacrament of its entirety, its divinity,
Its flesh made manifest and merely flesh.
It mocks this menagerie with every breath
And, aping its peers, struggles, strives, dies
For the pittance this world lends it.
Confronted with the end, it spits derision.
Confronted with the start, it cries in awe!
What a nonsense of a creature we see here,
This enigma we recognize in ourselves:
The human, being.

I prayed that you find hope inside disaster

I prayed that if disaster struck
at least maybe you learn from the inevidable

I prayed for the power to protect you
I prayed to forgiven; I failed

I prayed that I would stop worshiping you as if you hailed from the sky

I prayed to those unknown deities
I prayed they would stop taunting me with you

I prayed that maybe I would stop making wishes for you
I prayed that I would not care as much about you

I prayed that angles would stop playing tricks
I prayed their soft tongues and laughing frames would stop placing their creations upon my path like golden gifts on display

but I am on my knees and sitting still
praying that I would stop worshiping you

(you are a blessing
that I've been condemned to)



amen

I thought my barriers were too high
I was certain that it will not fall
I guarded my heart
It was locked and kept
I buried it six feet under the ground
I hid it where nobody can find it
I considered it dead

But little did I know
It was me who broke down my wall
It was me who dug my heart
It was me who offered my dead cold heart

It was funny he kept it
Oh no
It was funny to think that he'd keep it
He clutched my heart and I lost my breath
Isn't it ironic, how he killed my dead heart?
It was funny, I am certain.
I thought I was numb but ****, it ******* hurts