What’s it like

What’s it like when you’re head’s not full of words

What’s it like after body shots that drain emotional spots spin their wheels 

What you say during growing when the monster inner growls its yearning 

Desire taketh over and pissed off vibes runneth closer 

Tell me what to think, what to say

Aren’t you tired of independence yet

Aren’t you sick of differential split 

Like a math formula they all got bored of

Where is the friends that rise up the horrid

Sinking loose lips trying to kiss but getting frogs

When do I, we, get some cover 

Manholes, sinkholes, open opening

Think enough

Think too much

What is life without a thought 

What do I go on for but to entertain myself 

Nuts to the wall but friends can’t always humor 

I alone make better merriment 

Those lovely friends just apparitions 

Hear others say such love such life

Where to find these spirits nigh

Where to let loose mindly clutter

What’s it like when silence is

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Sorry for the hate

Okay pretty white girl?
Compared to me how many times have you been called a faggot or homo?
Since you’re correcting me on PC terminology tell me your strife and struggles
Tell me the life you lived as an oddity, a freak/geek/nerd weirdo
The years of pushing through fight fight right to exist plight
Beats and dog piles on the outsider weird guy
Fighting for your pride or maybe life against jocks and thugs and small minds
Boys dumb and fucked, grabbing your man boobs and twisting and laughing suckers up
Calling you gaylord while rubbing your breasts
Hating yourself for fat massed up there
Chestal area no flats there
Fuck you pretty white girl!
For scolding me, trying to educate me, trying to encapsulate my experiences and life with your borrowed online awareness posts
you spoken “woke” and praising self
you huffed and puffed cause you on the right side of history eh?
Troopers and truthsayers all of us renegades
Every new one
Every gen y and millennial a soldier for the reprieve
Of good ones and Reason
Of common sense withdrawn from Our expression

Tell us please
Tell us massa
You so educated
Youse the media plasters
Darlings and camera whores
When you see a brown man talking bout bisexuality or gender politics
Tell me please in comments after this
Me need to learn so I don’t be patronizing accomplice

Used to feel

I used to want the brother, the yang to me me. Thought He would be a certain way foolishly. But after hearing so many guys talk real about bros, i understand i was lucky fofucky to have sisters and be myself all these years without outside older brother influence. Many years of thinking i wanted that unreal, that blood kin inside my imagination. Dumby me but lovin the expansion of maturity and awareness. 

ADHD Adieu

I feel like I want the drugs, the extra pre scripts that dull and conjecture me, juxtapose my posie me with poised poses that work on the city. Big cities, we all freaky people-span of attention quizzical and busy. Don’t want to be like those Ridilin kids, that predays when chest felt empty, hollow feels and dull mouth mumbling stubbles. Want the focus though. Craving it, insane with the turbulence of concentration flummox just hazy day/night pulling eyes towards bookies and epubs; texts perused aloof for half minutes then abandoned for miles as I run lapse to other projects. Poor bookies, old and new and digital too, looking for touch with silent folds and bookmarks saving forgotten trysts. 

Want focus but it must be earned by me. Natural work my butt off training without the montages.  Spend some hours for several pages or sparse ink lines.

Bar passage 02.21.17

Honesty.
If I was to be honest with myself, with her, with whomever I latch my emotional wagon to, I would be brave enough to face those hurt faces; the sad, slanted lip, tiny open mouthed pains written on pretty visages. I hat them so much, I recall them daily as I am want to cudgel and flail myself metaphorically; the whole Catholic upbringing shit. Damn you judgy white hats, with your fake laurels and holier-than-thou overly curious digits.

I feel in me to tell, not to tell, am I saving myself or her. The ever-present her that always seems to come every.. year, biannual, lonely half-desperate existential period? Think I care enough about Her? No, unfortunately it is always about me. The favourite, the loved peer, the exalted inner Danny awaiting his forever Shine. So many bads and embarrassments melded into they all love me, cuddle me verbally, eyes so cordial and kindly. Sick of my openness and comfort effortlessly. Everyone says so approachable yet I should be lovingly. Ready.

So closed I get lost in the metal gears that shunt and stern the heartsing. Shards speak words that we afraid to speak, leak, spill onto digital paper sheets. Only brave when it comes to blogging. So utterly morose at the thought of femme loss, hurt faces.

Hurt faces speak volumes upon my deafened ears after years of selfish shit. Want to open but aware of the empty organs pumping materially.

Guiltlove

She shud be able to enjoy it
Flow after retirement
Ease from lacking office
Less stress less tests
Knock down meds
Big heart be damned
Bio complicated interfere her
Enlarged aorta no kill her
Strong like bull and stubborn too

Ppl sick from worry bout sickness
Bouts of ill
Listless
Fuck de bucket list
New fuckit list

Give ease
Alms to mater
Madre malady
She deserves more than we give her

You try and make up for the years of horrid treatment. Sure there was such tears dampening my soggy shoulders, but amid the adolescence there was the selfish anger. Roiling teen cursing mum, curse god world Mississippi goddamn. Lacking heart for familiars and stressed her test she took it with wavering strides cause her heart was so big. Always felt bad, guilt, guiltlove, sick with love and now abstaining.

This shud be her time
Life owes her
Ppl owe her
We owe her
But she takes less n les
Stupid motherly love