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A Poetry Collection

Updated on February 12, 2017

Dear Wall,

Dear Wall,
I know,
I know.
You won’t believe me.
But I assure you, the cure to cancer is not in a fucking kiwi.

Dear Wall,
What is a Candy Crush?
And why do you keep inviting me?

Tell me good Wall:
how does one who performed so much felatio in her teens
blossom into such an ignorant, malicious Nazi?

Wall, Wall,
I’ve taken dumps more impressive than your meal
It’s important to take pride in your work,
but don’t expect me to have a vicarious feel

and Wall,
stop trying to fool me
you aren’t so happy as you say with your new husband
In fact, you sang a much different tune
when I had my mouth on you.

Now Wall,
I know you don’t think highly of our president,
or congress,
or whatever...
but rest assured there is not one agency of our government with death camps meant for civilians
You believe that, because you’re ignorant
You won’t believe this, because you’re prejudiced.

Dearest Wall,
I’m very sorry your mother passed.
I was really quite fond of her.
I wish the information hadn’t been drowned out in a sea of tripery
so that I could have known then and not just now.

Wall, wall, wall, seriously,
stop oh so strategically placing the camera flash over your face.
I know your game and while it may not be your best asset, trust me:
no one likes that kind of surprise

Wall.
I don’t care about your spouse and your children bore me.

Wall,
I get it,
You like Fifty Shades.
And if there's nothing wrong with that:
Why is it still creepy
When I mention my browser history?

Wall...
Are you going to be alright?
I know you said something about you and your boyfriend
and some sort of fight.

Wall,
don’t act so righteous and holy with me.
I’ve seen the things the things you can do with just your feet.

Wall, come on now,
before you complain about your “bad luck” with men
remember you were not clubbed over the head and dragged by your hair to his cave.
You let him in.
You made a decision.
Albeit, a bad one.
Perhaps you should reflect on this and that which led to it.

Wall, if I may be so bold:
Who the hell are you?
You may know my friends, but we’ve never met.
This is odd and awkward.

Wall, with um… respect.
I liked your music better when you were still on drugs
You are a whiny, self-centered, and arrogant prick
now as well as then
But at least way back in the when you made me laugh
as the comical serial killer, Slim

*sigh* Wall,
Stop acting like he was a good man.
He stole, cheated, and lied
and for no one but himself.
No head-on collision will change that.

Dear Wall,
if you believe pets are like children,
I challenge you to have real ones.
I’ve had one and hold no illusions to its being the other.

Wall.
You’re a dude.
No one died.
Suck it up.
Stop crying.
Now, I’m all for gender equality,
but if that means you’ll become a simpering pansey;
we’ll have to dial have to dial it back a notch,
maybe three.

Wall, I must admit,
I’m almost afraid to make snarky comments regarding this
as I suspect you may have a few bricks missing,
but no matter how much you post about being single
the world will not grant you a wife.
I know the stories and your friends both say that “love finds you,”
but that is a lie.
It’s just a Santa Clause for adults.
It’s a fabrication designed to make you feel better.
You will not get what you feel you deserve.
No one gets what they “deserve,”
they get what they get.
Everything else has to be taken.
The world does not simply “work out” for you.
You have to carve your path into it like everyone else.
It’s terrible, but true.
The world does not owe you.

And finally Wall,
Please be aware:
I have, to say at the least, an impressive memory.
That means, like a hard drive, (which I’m sure is a construct you’re somewhat acquainted with)
everything I see, hear, or read will remain in my brain.
Also, like a hard drive,
the space is limited, and shall run out.
But, unlike a hard drive,
I have no “recycling bin”
So simply put, I’d rather remember important things.
So, before alerting me to your tripery,
please consider the limited space in my own (and everyone else’s) memory.

Fuck That Shit

In my youth,
lacking the hindsight of my age,
I would look at the others stressing over schoolwork and wonder why.
I never saw the importance of my geometry, chemistry, or…
algebra
(I passed the shit out of the other ‘stries).
Between naps, I’d stare at the rows of equations incomprehensible and further complicated by the inane blatherings of the doddering hen at the white board.
“Fuck that shit,” I’d say, “I’ll play now and not worry about paying later.”

Day in and out I’d sleep and laugh
as my peers would struggle and fuss over figures.
I’d claim to have had the time of my life,
but that, sir, would be a lie.
I had my fun, I had my sorrow
with nary a care for tomorrow.
As time drew on my friends fussed less about figures and more about futures.
“Fuck that shit,” I continued, “I’ll find my own way.”

As it turned,
a way found me.
It came as a short, chubby man with buzzed hair and a tan uniform.
The man wanted engineers, but would take all comers.
As my friends went away and off to their happy lives with colleges, kids, and wives,
“Fuck that shit,” I ranted, “I’m joining the Navy.”

A year
and a delusion of persecution from an alien force
passed.
I bid my friends,
all two of them,
farewell,
“Fuck this shit,” I called out, “I’ve got a world to see.”

Off I was swept to a city of biting cold and no sunshine
(Technically the outlying county, but we’re just gonna call it Chicago)
into a regime of structure, discipline, honor, courage, commitment, God, and duty, and patriotism and
“Fuck all that shit, I’m in this for pay,
and foreign hookers…
Mostly foreign hookers.”

Through a series of circumstances I am not ashamed of,
my attitudes caught up with and got the better of me.
To make short a long story my legs fractured in three places giving me the ability to sense the coming rains,
but that came long after I felt my dreams die.
Into my flame retardant pillow I cried,
“Fuck this shit.
I want to see the sun blotted out from the sky.”
… As Mick Jagger put it.

After a few months of spared details, I decided it was time to be on my way.
Armed with the mentorship of the only man to match me in both wit and deviance
I made my way into an office:
first, a Chaplain who was set at an unease by my rhetoric,
(which wasn’t an uneasy task as making “good” Christians uncomfortable is a skill upon which I pride myself)
The next was a shrink, who
after some little convincing and an unbelievably high test score,
had little choice but to send me on my way.
I packed my bags and departed with a skip and a smile.
“Fuck this shit,”
I beamed to the watchman,
“I’m crazy here’s my degree.”

So ended my time with the Navy
and began a new chapter that I knew couldn’t possibly be worse.
Fuck me, was I wrong.
My friends had all gone.
Moved on to better lives.
A year spent alone.
In my darkest hours saved only by the want of a gun and an uncle who loves toast.
“Fuck this shit,”
I’d say,
“Let’s try one more day.”

On became two, and two became a year.
Unemployed, unloved, and mostly just bored
I found my way into a community college,
guess which one,
“Fuck this shit,”
I shrugged,
“It’s just a year or two, and besides what else is there to do?”

With my head low and my hands shaking.
I strode in.
I met a girl who wanted more than my money.
… despite accepting all of it...
She wanted more than my love.
She wanted my soul.
“Politely,” I declined.
I then met a girl
who met three guys
and asked for my advice.
I regret nothing.
More time,
more girls
but “Fuck that shit,”
I say,
“You don’t wanna hear all that.”

It’s now into my third,
I have friends and a good GPA.
But most importantly, I have beer.
My outlook is mostly the same, except now,
I look back at my life and say,
“Fuck that shit. I think I’ll be okay.”

Chaos

I am the anger that boils from your core.
I am the voice that screams “No” in the oppressive silence.
I am the wrench in the well-oiled machine.
I am the decision that defies all rationality.
I am the claws that lash at the gate.
I am the teeth that gnash in the night.
I am the knife in the alley,
The man in the van,
The piece out of place,
The plague in the palace.
I am the variable unaccounted for,
The detail you missed,
The mistake you made.
I am every cliché come true.
But never am when I come upon you.
I am Alpha;
The beginning.
I am Axl.

There

I stand as an array of overly familiar feelings well up
And take their long-reserved seats within my core.

First, the pain
Brought on by cold and rain:
It starts in my knees
And always finds my memories.
New to arrive the pain my thigh:
Brought on by an allergy to soap
It’s specific and not general, oh God, I hope.

Now, the hum
I feel it in my skull
Right in the back
Before the spine,
this thought of mine.
“What did I forget?”
“What will happen?”
“What will happen?”
“What will happen?”
“I shouldn’t go.”
“I should stay where I am,
and say I went.”
“What if I fucked up?”
“What did I fuck up?”

I breathe deep.
Once,
Twice,
Then swallow.
The feeling travels downward and meets the others in the middle,
on occasion burning the top of my throat.

Finally, in an instant eternity I stand and begin my journey.
Hold the door.
Squint.
The light stings
Bringing back the throbbing that had subsided.
It matches my steps.
Between the skull fractures, I find the right building.
Once more, hold the door.

Upon entry I see the see the closed portal.
The hum rips the roof as it turns into a storm.
A whirling cacophony of my most painful memories
mixed with my worst fears over-taking my greatest hopes.
Empty?
Worse? Not empty.
They don’t want you.
They don’t like like you.
They don’t need you.
They don’t care.

I continue,
Peer through the glass,
Wave,
Pretend to be casually passing,
Pray to the God you know can’t exist
That they don’t notice how desperate I am.
How badly I need that door to open.
They notice.
The smile.
They smile.
They wave.
The door opens.

The storm subsides, leaving the hum to cover its shift.
They don’t hate you.
They don’t mind you.
They care.
They will never know, but that open door makes me happier than the cumulative memories of my childhood.

I take my usual spot,
It is my only bastion in a world-wide, oil-slicked lizard orgy.
An oasis of light in a world drenched in shadow and doom.
It can’t feel as I hold onto it for the life that has only recently grown dear to me.

She is there.
Smells of hygienic flowers.
She smiles as I glance at her
While “scanning the room.”

I smile.
The hum goes into the back as it is relieved by…
something pleasant.
A feeling I can’t describe in concrete terms.
The feeling I get with just the right amount of alcohol
(Forty ounces of eighteen percent divided by (friends plus self))
Or an abundance of opioids.
That warm feeling that works its way up from my stomach and twists my mouth into a smile.

I want to tell her something.
I need to tell her something.
“It’s a bad idea,”
I’m told.
“She has dreams and a future.”
I’m told again and again.
and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again

I know:
“She has dreams and a future,
And you don’t.”
I know.
Another time, maybe.

Continue to “scan.”
My friend, he’s tense.
Brow knitted, neck red.
He can’t seem to leave fast enough.
I’ll need to check on him.

Everyone’s quiet.
Like they murdered someone.
I take my notes,
As I stand, the last bit of business with a different her that had slipped my mind
comes to mind
as she answers her phone.

I am bound by the shackles of politeness.
Wait.
Longer…
Longer still...
Oh God, it’s her boyfriend she’ll be forever.
I decide I don’t have time to be polite.
I blurt out my business.
It doesn’t end poorly.

I take a breath before plunging back into the lightless abyss.
With waves and smiles
I know they don’t hate me.
I know they are quite fond of me.
I know they care.
Then I’m gone.

With a sigh I realize that
I will know they hate me,
I will know they can’t stand me,
I will know they don’t care,
and I will know I’m not welcome there.

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