UGH

I hate you today
I hated you yesterday too
It probably won't get better
And I'm going to blame you

ROUGH

My teddy bear hates when you call
Because his fur gets damp
From the grip of my sweaty palms
And the ocean that leaks from my eyes.
Every so often I knock my head
Against the
Concrete
Wall.
But you just keep pursing your lips
Like they've been dipped in vinegar
And lemonade
And if you cared a bit less
What other people think
You would maybe
Spit.

I spit.
I yell.
And I bawl my fucking eyes out
After I've bitten through my tongue
My neck is worn out from invisibly nodding
And I reach for my inhaler
While hoping that you would take a breath
And listen to what I don't say.

BEFORE THE STORM

tiny balloons
covered in hedgehog spikes
are inflating behind my nose
they grow and expand
up under my eyeballs
and it worries me
as i know that the bigger
the balloons get
the bigger
faster
harder
and uglier
my tears will be
when they come


or maybe i just have
to sneeze

TEMPERATURE

When it's hot like this and the air is wet
I kind of feel like death is sitting on
My chest and pinching my nose and
Tickling me so I can't breathe.
It's January.
What the Hell.

A STICK-MAN DOESN'T MEAN MUCH

the sign on the wall
by the electrical outlet
in the booth closest to the door of the café
has a picture of a bed
with a stick-man upon it
and a red slash that means
"No Doing This"
and i don't know why it's there
maybe because the booth isn't a bed
or to remind you you're in public
or because there're 19 couches
8 feet away
where it would be a lot more productive to sleep

WHAT I DO

I don't write poems
I write observations
With line breaks in
Awkward places because I think
That sort of counts as a
Poem