last week’s poems 04

50 people a day

reading my poems

don’t know who you are

but i’m hoping

that you are creating, yourself

and writing your own poems

and that you’ll send em to me

or that you’ll just show em

to others

50 people a day reading my poems

couldn’t ask for anything more

except for you to also create

something today

and let people know it?

its hard to keep going

sometimes

young writer

but if you don’t

you won’t

ever get to see

that next idea

that’s hiding

right around the corner

so keep going

and you’ll get a lot closer

prolificness: a lifestyle

when i thought i had everything

i didn’t have much at all

and when i thought i didn’t have it all

i had everything

+ a little bit more

oh homeboy,

dont you know?

i knew you were a better poet than me

but i was making poems consistently

and for me

that was the dream

we’ll find out what happens to either of us eventually

when i have 300 poems

and you have 3

sharing poems

to a blissful review

but only from you

and that was all it took

to keep them going

a little longer

smoked and sipped

and drank

a fair bit

on my own

before you arrived

and changed the vibe

you smoked and drank

a little bit

but the night

was no longer

alive

hear no people

got my heaphones on

see no people

got my notebook open

speak no words

got my pen going

these poems came strong

after a little while of trying

that was all it took these days

for most things

a little while of trying

have you got it in you?

homage to Henson

miss you terribly already

miss you and our photo taking

with the wildflowers and the sun baking

miss our conversations in the car

on that road trip to the coast

miss the way you’d hold me at bars

and the way those hours would move so slow

miss the heat of your bones

when you’d come over and we’d forget our phones

and i miss that small seat in my apartment

the most

we’d sit so close

we’d sit so close and feel so known

indoctrination sensation

i got stuck

in corporate america

tied to desk

waterboarded by a manager

and yelled at to breath

CEO blindfolded me

and told me to see

girl, just come over and we’ll write poems

the american way

work really hard and long hours then retire

and buy a really fast car that you drive real slow 

because you’re too old and too sick

and don’t even know it

nice to be known

a little off one day

i had a drive

to an old town dive

pasadena locals

helped me thrive

i was dead on arrival

to stability

i was finished

played out

withdrawn

and not returned

stability felt nice

for a second of time

but only because i was dead

and didn’t know it yet

but as soon as i reached the gate

i understood

i was dead on arrival

so i knew

what i had to do

even though i’d met some devils

that tried to hold me close

i knew it was a trap

everything was too easy too clean

death felt like a sin

i knew what i had to do

to get rid of this comfort

i had to

descend back to the heaven

of discomfort and the unknown

because

i was dead on arrival to stability and it was showing

i wish she knew my ideas don’t come close

she said “you just like the idea of me”

and i knew it had come from her friends

but it hurt when she said it

because she was way more than any idea i could come up with

i wish she knew my ideas don’t come close

money

wrote a fair bit today

but i knew she was going to get in my way

he thought the poems

could change lives

oh, what a fool

he thought his only contribution

was his poems

oh, what a fool

can’t stop thinking about that night we could’ve fucked

but instead we went out on the town

made some irish friends

and drank so much

that our walk home was staggered

and we passed out at an ungodly hour

but we slept so sound together

naked and warm

what a night that was

the night we could’ve fucked

and we woke up late that morning

and had to get going

but we stopped off

for some coffee

drank it at the beach

time moved so slow

oh what a morning that was

the morning we shared some love

so far,

so many scratches on a page

but no poems

that’ll be read

after i’m in my grave

that’ll change

iterate, iterate

let your ideas

procreate

no more love poems babe

capitalism killed em dead

no i’m just going to get this money now baby

get this bread

i’m going to go in deep go over my head

no more love poems babe

they’ve made me broke

people said girls loved a poet

but really just the ones with money

even though they all fucking choke

no more love poems babe

can’t let you know

about my mental health

it’s on a decline

because i stopped

expressing my love for you

and just resigned

no more love poems babe

you stuck with him

and he had nothing going you see

just a bit of money

and a stable family

no more love poems babe

even though i had all these dreams

and words on pages that could

tell you everything

do you read my poems online sometimes?

does he know?

does he know

you got dreams of your own?

does he know

that you’ll always find your way home?

does he make you laugh

till you start choking?

does he know

how to sit with you

when you are broken?

does he know

does he know

just how to hold you with no talking?

i got good at writing hella poems

but worse at paying rent

i got good at charcoal drawings

but all my money was spent

fuck the new girl

she wasn’t anything close

and the last girl

she loved you the most

rent was 500

but my poems were a dollar a piece

had to keep writing or i’d be on the street

all i owe

to the world

today

is

ten poems

for no pay

if i can give the world that

then i’m set for the day

and my life wont be the same

thats all thats wrote, this week

fin,

for now

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