I'm going to share some poems I've made. I don't plan to become published but I want someone to enjoy them so I send them to friends. Thank you if you listen and like my poetry and I wish you great happiness in your life regardless. I haven't had time to do anything and I felt like re-reading through some old poetry I wrote and I had really wanted to add to it and then I felt like sharing my work to friends but wanted to do that here to strangers. love you all
“
Give it everything that you have”
Give so much that you empty. Give to yourself everything there. Give to your loved ones the whole and entire share if you think that you sincerely cared. Give to them as much as you would want in return if things were reversed. Give them your blazing eyes, give them your brightest smile, and give them your highest pride. Give them your finest knowledge, give them your tragic happiness, give them your passionate kindness, give them your extensive gratitude, give them your buried empathy, give them your sweetest lies, give them your pain tolerance, give them your patience, give them straight answers, give them better questions, give them everything that you have. Give them a way out, give them a hug, give them a few spare minutes, give them an hour, give them your stomach, and give them the punching. Give it everything that you have; they are the world you live with, so that you get to be a part of this world excess in its many and innumerable experiences, and legends of our loss. Give them the mythological burning of hope. Give especially towards the people that you exist with, who have less than you, and wonder at who we are becoming, and worry at who we are becoming, as well. Give yourself something, anything, and keep giving. Giving can never end, time would tell, and if only you knew how much room we could give. Give through, cry your rivers...
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overconsumin’”
Create a character. They have mental illness and live in low caste. Create that character’s job, family, and behavior but create their autonomy and pry that from their lived experience. Give them nervous habits and anxiety.
Give them some of the world’s anger. Give them some of everyone’s fault. Give this protagonist a figmentacion where he cheated on someone who cheated on them but deliver the two sides of coin and hollow the character where their judgment is. Make him a prostitute who sold themselves to a sugar-mama to get money for something earned and can be made for anyone lying around the planet’s junkyards. Give them the tool of psychology and psychological analysis. They’ll be a very uneducated one with the power of psychology at their disposal and take away the part about going to pursue college. Instead, binge eat and puke it up on the ground behind their routine house.
They lost four thousand dollars. Little papers?
For, they are loner, aren’t hero, and it isn’t tragic rather instead a monotony of behavior. We are human. We are compulsive and irrational. We lose control we never have though the thought of autonomy and agency is always giving glad. We obsess and painstakingly make every agony in white lie.
Create an eating disorder, lie about the reason which came from good intention with less than fine delivery. Puke because you need to and the throat sore with doubts, regrets, misunderstandings, and criticism’s, defensiveness, stonewalling’s and the acidic contempt eroding away at the throat!
“
This is not what they call a home”
The world has become unaware of the consequence and affect of its own technologies. Society has fallen in love. Some countries are in love with its own abuser and others with the one. Both cases are blind. Smell the car exhaust and the ditch bouquet. Share a shower of lead and non-stick chemicals that are forever. Cook with your male, drink with your female and be at a table of Television, social media, and lackluster impression of a feeling that isn’t there.
The social apocalypse is wasting us. The upswept or swept won’t matter when your trailer burns in five, or when the tornado decides, when the private equity firm eats away what you tried, or when the days all pass you by for a lack of sense of the entire times and you don’t have the right to complain about the lack of conviction you strictly sold as forbidden; because it's justified to be your decisions in the cold of convenience. You make the choice to stay. Unfortunately it is said to be about why you can’t leave and not as much about what will help you move on. Not even a sentence about why the situation is like this and why that abuser hurts you and no one beats them into the same submission and heartwrench. Not even a paragraph about how it is not your responsibility.
You live with the choice to hear domestic screams of Stockholm: in the wake of rent, in the wake of dependence, in the wake of the wrong side of bed. The alternative is you must leave the abusive if you would like to be healthy. A relationship really only means a moment and not a whole lifetime of living hell. The fact is if you’re unhappy then you must think like an atheist and pretend that the world is ending, and you might die to a blank and empty nihilism any day; spent.
You may not be happy if you don’t understand what will make you happy in the first place. You can leave behind anything and still find a life right there. Don’t let him beat you or keep you away from friends and family. Don’t let him hit the things and people that you love. You were never his. Fuck poetics.
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Matriarchy”
Women are so much stronger. Women work so much longer. Women labor our generations. Women raise St. Louis as well as the next Lucifer’s Satan. Women rack themselves with anxiety and hide their emotions as a show of endurance. Women take on the whole world and exceptionally with no complaint. Women are the key to the future, yet are disposed, are held against their will, are broken to pieces, are falling leaves, are echoes calling in a breeze, are thought to be mean, aren’t fully respected, and are so much stronger because they hold on for far more longer. Men bitch and men complain, men tell you to do dishes and men say that you’re insane, men play on consoles and men masturbate to everything, men suffer less consequence and men give less thanks, men don’t like compassion as much and men neither create, men want the world and men might always want more, men are pigs and women are whores, women are blessings in disguise and women are lightning strikes. Patriarchy deters women from surpassing and matriarchy would change things avidly.
“
About Drugs”
So, I spoke up and said about your drugs unsure if you could hear and questioning my words in fear. Not sure if I even said something, wondering if the noise that I make is fine?
There is a time to flee and a time to fly. There’s never time to sit around all day long just to get high. There is a time to be and a time to let go. There is a lot of time.
The time it may take you to feel alive will be the same amount of time it will take for you to finally die and the difference is the place and person wasted beyond their pride and the moron inside; appeal to things that are actually real.
Smoking weed, despite knowingly throwing me further than the land fills everything. Trying to enjoy the only joy, feeling dim and feeling less annoyed, loosing attention and shallowing my memory. Realizing that I could quit, study hard, piss into a cup, and really live. Please don’t just assume that I’m a pothead looking at you. People make their own choices, people dig their own graves, people abuse drugs, people don’t need to get professionally paid. People give themselves hope, people walk tall, people wobble when their feelings hurt, and eventually people will rise and eventually will also fall
So I said it all about your drugs.
Ditching. Cringy. Emptied. Trend. Skip. Complicit. Sad. Sickly. Disease. Healthcare. Withdrawal, drawl, drool, abyss, endless, sick, missed, finished, principal, attitude, father, mother, bother, prosper, burning, ick, crisp and glistening. Everything ending eventually especially excessive. Infection, fiction, fixing, and it quickened at so much expense. Emptied banks. If anything in any sense it’s your personal side effect of this. Profit and cash. Lots of money that acts. Extra, Extra. Sex for. Disgusted. Wasn’t love. Poor judgment. No other option for some. Just insecure. Beating and beaten through repetition. Ex, Excellent, but what did you expect? Ick, Ish, excuse, pissed, dismiss, fits. Room to give, things to pretend, and people to leave. Air, sail, sea, sentence. Open mouthed and stricken with complete silence. The drugs imply some kindess of love but it’s not this and it’s not even close to love. It’s really a torture and tragedy. Reasons for? That’s not the problem, isn’t it? So instead. Beg more, forever. Liquid fire, drowning further than waters and into abyss.
Access enough, life acts as the obstacle of it. Stigmatic. Aren’t you happy you won the war, the argument, gave your grand tour? You aren’t addicted, you’re superior. They don’t access love. Death wrote to you a sweet poem. About drugs and overdone and now it’s not what most people would call fun. Can’t afford no more. Can’t afford anything at the store. Alone, so sure, isn’t it a shame, only it’s on my brain, and inside your mind, bent on spent, drinking yourself and your spouse to death.
Addiction, mental health, employment, treatment, sense, expense, less giving, lost in consequence. Affect for none, not enough. Never given the support. The over it, suppose. The pitch dark awaiting sun. Blinded, darkened, life is rough, affronted by tests. I wish that I could tell myself, so could you just lie for me? Best of the best, of the best, of the best, of the best; I said to myself. An incredible sort, sourced by more than just the lies. Sourced by anger buried inside. A bonus, blank, empty, but the only score is your bonus, the only rise is your little bump.
Space atheist and the raging anger. About drugs, exhausted, silenced, crying, hating, and want it to be over. Retry, apple of an eye, brought to a tear that dropped from my cheek. Cheap. Speed. Fiends. That’s why they call it “Ice”.
Bound by cries. Tied by hyperventilation and sobbing in longing. Bottled up to fears. Fake and try to say but can’t even make a breath... Love you still. Actually, affected dead and your death spoke decimals that broke wine glasses and shattered skyscraper windows, and cracked open mountains and you quietly overdosed in a bed. Died on Thanks Giving Day against and couldn’t get to insulin and you were the same age as me and started on my father’s medicine. Love you unconditionally. Percocet pills. Perks and thrills. Problem. Never forget. Death, Addicted in spring, summer, autumn, winter, awesome. Pale faced, pay for it every now and then until one day; about drugs, justifying, and its fate. Thank you Sackler’s; giving us the gift of pain relieving medication, god bless your heart, from the south.
Again. Against. Repeated again against better judgment. So high, almost goodbye, would you gather candles when the junkies died?
Apart. From dead inside, stood in line with aches and pain’s and I thought about drugs all the time with blanks.
Anything to say? Anything could do. Anything is still something, food for thought, concept to chew.
I’ll give you anything for another dosage. Tolerate. Tolerate me, please. Tolerate everything, until my toleration raises to the redwood trees! No limits if its said to be safe by the sales representatives.
Put, place, pray, pack all your bags, ail, and a-hack. Can’t take you seriously no more. Horse, crack, dope, tar, icesheet, scale, brick, mule, launder, dual, melt, cheat, preach, speak, each, meek, flood, leave, beat and beat. Please!
Pray on your knees, portray me how you think you see, and besides the point; compelling. Without a bite to eat and crap. Without a light to see and guide. Vast. A Problematic past. A lot of hell intact but alas.
Healer cult doesn’t care, money to make off broken souls, sore for torn and tone. Breaking off, outspoken and alone. Erie, please leave it on its own in the disturbing colds of the burrow. Reap what you sow, philosophical laundry listed, blocked out of a; proudest where you make everyone so proud of you. Thought you loved me; About your drugs.
About drunks. About secondhand smoke. About giving up. About drugs. How about abuse? How about our institutions? How about how we answer? How about neglect? How about convenience and silence?
All about a few worlds renounced mixed messages about the harm we knew to us.
About social resilience. All left, there in silence. Trying to stop laughing during its violence like a joke. Bank of weeping and finance. Bank on T.V. and prescription times. Use as directed, do not cry. About drugs, I'd say about my parent’s crisis.
About, all about, about drugs!
A lot of about. Psychiatry, self-destruction, wrapped together with longing and lying… Are you kidding me? Aren’t you joking? Could I laugh it off because it’s my way to say that I’m sorry? It’s my way to press the issue without taking direction in the matter. It is a minute. The death in all of us, about memory and the dead. A few of us would wake up. A few of us won’t. Some of us will kill and die for another moment in our lies.
Extra broken for the sadness of this all. Have a happier life.
Expect no more, expect no less, will you stop talking only about drugs and make some sense? I’m not even a prohibitionist.
Broke your back, broke your heads, boo-hoo, broke your soul, broke your poise, broke you cold, broke my childhood, broke a whole, broke my family, broke my future, broke my hope, broke my hold, broke my horses, broke my nose, broke, breaking me every day since a long list of prescription opiates, and a lack of pain for something that isn’t even interesting.
A lack of things to say. A lack of reporting on the millions of Americans overdosing. Appears to be all about drugs, for some. A bit immaculate? Oh wow, you have a sporting car and a sore heart?
Add to the piles of dead. About drugs and bleed on hands. About drugs, washing off, and leave on the sand. About drugs, blue and sad that a role model gave you a making but you couldn’t care because it matters and you can’t handle. About drugs, but the world isn’t for without your body there? About drugs, we surely missed you making more mistakes and complaining. About drugs, about overdose.
About drugs, about junk. About drugs, about blues, about loosing. About abusing. About drugs, long, and drawn out, and pain, and courage, and care, and change, and help, and all the waste. About drugs and the worst thing that could cause you to see that you aren’t in control in that you may have died too like she had on Thanks Giving. About drugs, over a little bit too many drugs and not nearly as many hugs. About drugs and blame nothing, don’t just say you’re okay, connect.
About drugs, make proper decisions. About drugs, harm reduction and if possible, abstinence and moderation. About drugs, get help one step at a time but give a colloquial fuck; since you hold responsibility and make the most of your life. About drugs, give yourself saying. Give yourself a better life and do not cry. You have the ability. You may not know it about drugs. You may not know what you could take the patient time to self-reflect on. Get out while you want, for things are not always going well enough or as planned and it’s about that time... About drugs and please help me take my hands!
“
Bargaining”
Please don’t leave me … Could I ask that you won’t? … I’m attached from toes to my throat … I would be much better with you by my side … I’m going to cry when I accept that you’ve died … I haven’t accepted because I’m just almost broken down … I’d give you the money in my pockets to still have you around … I thought it through, and maybe I just need you … It doesn’t matter if you aren’t there because I would justify that it isn’t very fair … I can’t quite explain how I’ve got this way, struggling with every beg, I’m grabbing your legs on my squatted knees, and I bargain to hear your lungs wheeze … I won’t say it, no goodbye’s … Come back home before you make myself cry.
“
Book burning”
Burn, burn, burn. Bullshit, my dear friend. Won’t even read your work. Wouldn’t know what to say, because wouldn’t know where to begin the dissert. So, instead of allowing history to be; burn, burn, burn. Burn through people, burn through knowledge, burn the power down from the office, burn the world out through shocks, ignite the silence, and fire up violence. Blind your people, burn your eyes with books in the bonfires. Burn the Jews, too. Burn the blacks. Burn the Muslims and burn the Mexicans. Burn until you have whelps. Burn in irrationality and hell. Burn as we shall see. Hell on Earth made by our drought. The kindling is all about. The saddest thing is when it traveled to the neighbor’s house. Burn in courage, burn in cowardice, burn regardless for hours because hot flames tower and kindling surrounds with dry grass in tow. Burn at low temperatures, burn at high, wild fires alive. Burn bipolar, traumatized, post traumatic and blind, for crying out loud burn through time long and lined and short, sweet, and alight. Burnt to a brown, burnt to a black, like a marshmallow or an addict on crack. Burn like your father, burn like your mother, burn like you have no other role model and don’t you stutter. Burn alright, burn all fine, but burn through time. Burn down your life. Burn up your mind. Burn and burn and burn. No firefighter. Not even an arsonist to crime.
“
That ocean”
(originally wrote in a mental institution, completely rewritten) [Note: The line “The Black Tears” refers to sunken battleships in the oceans that still contain biohazards and cannot conveniently be removed]
That ocean, that ocean. That sea, that sail, that breeze. That ocean, that sinking. That endless sinking into the sea. That ocean is me. That drowning, that’s sweet. That dying reef. These oceans. These people who keep fishing. That plastic in the sea. That sunken beneath. That crab meat. That box jellyfish, that turtle of things, that beach prime for eggs, those tourists, and the plastic Nagasaki. That Mexico’s gulf stream, hypoxia from Salt Lake City. Fertilizing through watersheds across our country through farming. That ocean of things. That’s our ocean. The violence, the piracy, the multinational slave trade, the sinking depression, the question, The Black Tears, the fears, the haunted souls, the sea gulls; the Ocean’s seas. The tragedy sailing through where the wind blows and staring out the ship’s windows. The tsunami, the evaporation, the transpiration, and the Vikings invasion. The human trafficker, the art looter, the smart sailor, the diving failure, the betrayal, the cannibal, the whale; that ocean. That violent ocean we surf on. That melting ice sheet. That denying. That burden that is practically on fire. That ironic harpoon and family of Orca’s. That blue whale, that many species of aquatic mammal. That extinct crustacean unable to form shell. You can burn a pan of water in hell. The rising. The warming. That flowing water. That rising sea, heated molecules expanding. That drain filling freshwater into the ocean and feeding atmosphere and hurricane. Those fluid ounces. That demanding. Those methane crystals deep down that can be. That violent current that pulls you out to dehydration and sunlight’s relentless. Survive that ocean. Try, to sail the seven seas. Hope that you know where to swim and hope you know where to breath.
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Potato famine”
Oh Ireland, taking the potatoes from the New World and those Native graves in America whence your potato came. Where are your potatoes now these days? Because as it would seem a silly disease wiped them all away. Your monoculture sprang to life and came in blight and strife. Your platter full of spud, but now cannibalizing even the ones you loved. Your boots have leather, you’re starving and whining, you’re basically dying.
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Be more conveniently”
Shall we spell this out in words? You can be yourself. The person you don’t get along with can be themselves. Perhaps we can’t see ourselves? Perhaps we’re just a little butt-hurt and finding reasons to moan. Good lord, have you no words for those? You wonder whether your brother is unconditional and worry if he’d come onto you. That’s the thing. If only you could see that it’s okay. It’s just not anyone’s business, sexuality. Treating other people who aren’t straight with angst isn’t a way to get laid, either. No one finds you masculine while you’re attacking or defensive and causing a problem. Couldn’t we just contemplate what is at stake over steaks and eggs? Can’t we all just be at peace? It doesn’t mean you’re the outcast or that anyone really wanted to know your sex life or to explain theirs. I just don’t get it, go love yourself and listen; no one cares about how you feel as though life is unfair with all these gays and their hair past their ears. We’re all going to share the same space. It’s the modern age and one cares anymore. Find your own lifestyle and don’t impose. Get drunk, quit being such a punk, or at least meditate, shave your head, and go become a nun.
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Advertise an Alcoholic Improvised Explosive Device”
Good morning; tequila, rum, vodka, beer, wine, whisky, it’s going to be your life. Your life is mine; see how happy it is to party. Rape culture on the rocks. Drink a drink, a drink, a drink, and drink. You’re twenty-one. You’re dumb. You have the money. Look at these marketable immigration stories that should sell drinks, on the rocks, with hypocrisy. Look at the fact; rainbow capitalism on some jack. Alcohol isn’t a giant conglomerate. Look at these people having a life. It’s cultural. Goodnight and tequila, rum, vodka, beer, wine, whisky. No need to worry. Drink up said your advertisement. These young and impressionable adults with the free will would be willing. Compelling commercial. There’s no fault at the expense when it’s a personal decision. Don’t forget to drink responsibly! It’s not so personal as it is just smart business. Take a few common things laid in waiting and make a time-bomb that kills as you sip through years of abusive drinking.
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Society is about me”
Ringing phone. Sell over the ringing. Heartless heart. Honest lie. True story. Be your best. Maximum. Excess. Ten Yachts. Ten mansions. Welfare. Subsidized. Surveil for vast information here and there. Comb the hair. Tie the tie. Pull up your shoestrings and walk the good life. Material cost, maximum profit. Repeating pattern, pocketing all of it. Cry when you eventually lose. Beg for mercy when it’s a tough decision. When the heats getting too hot escape hell’s kitchen. Love to live and keep up the quality of living. Pull your hand on a phallic object until you reach promotion. Not a creep, not hateful, never said you are, and can’t complain. Maturity is being alive, walking your steps, and taking pain. Society is looking through the room, listening through this life, and preparing to take our time. Selfishness is buying things that make you happy despite making life tragic so that you fuel your shopping, mindset, and habit. Price is more than time. Price is what it costs to pay for loss. Priceless is more common, we lack real wage. Life is a setback, without any plans, and costs us billions. Life is a crime that doesn’t always pay. Check your pockets and count all your change.
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Finances”
Build up your bank account. Buy a car, buy a house, get insured, cry out loud. Learn to live. Learn to survive. Learn not to shed a tear so that they won’t see you cry. Learn to speak. Learn to grit through your teeth. Learn to be so empty. Build up to an ending. Buy a wedding ring, buy a partner, have fantastic sex, scream out loud. Learn to enjoy. Learn what reality is. Learn to love but to take its risks. Build up to a funeral procession. Buying won’t help you cheat death. It’s become a living testament. Laugh out loud. Better build up your bank account.
“
Atheism”
Dear friends, loved ones, enemies, dogs, cats, insects… I would like to live forever, don’t you know. I want to eat healthy, work out every day, keep my mind occupied, go to bed on time, write poetry that makes people stop, change the world around me, keep my promises, change my behavior, explain things better, love someone with passion, and exceed the low expectation. I want to beat the odds. I want to soar through the loss. I would like to die with a smile toward the end, on death bed, surrounded by dear insects, cats, dogs, enemies, loved ones, and friends.
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Food”
Food. Start digging in the ground to plant a seed. Food. Slaughter one million pigs; who originated from rainforest and devastating soy beans. Food. Unsustainable gluttony. Food. Hungry? Food. To eat, every day. Food. Food. Farm to famine. Food. To binge when you aren’t okay. Food. So, you have a something when there’s nothing to say. Food. A blanket of romaine and statement. Food. The cost is high; the price neverminded. Food. Always there. Food. Taken for granted, forgotten, and unfair. Food. Fought for. Food. For thoughts and to build bigger minds. Food. Complicated with a pinch of lime. Food. Don’t share, when it’s all mine. Food. Made from scratch because I took the time. Food. Fast and friendly; but only from one side. Food. Would you like to try something new? Food. Top it off with seasoning. Food. When life hands you lemons, make beef stew.