Seventeenth Week

February 20, 2013

 

My body keeps breaking down

And I’m only nineteen and I already feel like a hundred

Goddamn it all to hell and back, shit.

Contest entry forms give me rashes

And popping pills and pretending everything’s going great is not my style

I’ll Bukowski the hell out of this shit, shit, and don’t you like my curse words?
Don’t you love my pretty words?

I guess it all made sense on some level, to keep on writing shit like this for a whole year,

From Halloween past to Halloween present to Halloween future,

Forevermore.

And it’s a real pain.
A real, Real, REAL Pain to do.
But oh well.

No one, hopefully, is holding a gun to my head.

Sticking to writing isn’t easy; it eats up so much time, that one day you wake up and you’re an old timer, and then you’re dead.

I’m a happy hip cat, hooray.

Woo.

 

February 21

 

Everybody wins.

 

February 22

 

Cold fish eyes

Cold fish stares

Cold deadness everywhere

Especially from the people who once seemed so full of life

Odd, to say the least, of course

Creative writing awkwardness

And I don’t feel like doing shit

Or talking to any women or men

And I just feel so tired

At least my mom is coming back from Nicaragua

Fuck everything and everyone else

Especially Miami High and Gables people, sons of bitches of boys and “men” who never learned how to treat others besides screaming around and demanding things from others, like the world owes you SHIT

And bunch of stuck up prima donna self-centered egotistical oblivious neanderthalic “women”

Or girls or whatever the fuck you want to call it.

But getting angry and resentful and throwing out these petty pretty words doesn’t help at all

Just move on, exorcise my demons, get it out of my system, and have some fun and get involved in the work and everything will turn out okay.

Hopefully.

 

February 23

 

Crackers on a plate

Plate rusty tin

Tin full of spots

Spots full of rust

Rust full of stained atoms

 

A little man

Chasing a big car

Tomatoes thrown everywhere

Yelling continues

Young and old team-up, NBA-style

 

Conflict everywhere; what do you do when subatomic particles

Come together better than humans do, nowadays?

 

February 24

 

Basketball

Why must you hurt my feet?
Basketball

Why must you hurt my eyes?

Why must I write this

When all I want to do

Is play

Basketball?

 

February 25

 

Literary café Literary café

Why should I go to a Literary café?

It’s all the same shit, anyway

Write your poetry

Sing your song

Do your dance

Play out your role

Wear a bathrobe

Smile and read for a while

And then go home

And never think about it again
Until the next one,

Of course.

 

February 26

 

Nothing Important

Happened

Today (or ever, to be precise)

 

February 27, 2013

 

Social awkwardness knows no bounds

These poems give me brain parasites

I don’t understand what I’m writing

I just listen to the little Kafkas’ in my head

Late night texts

Anonymous messages

The world goes round

And yet it all goes on
The song remains the same

USB fixing

Porno collecting

Life draining

Mindless nights

Sleep bears little use

But at least I still care enough

To ramble like this

Internal monologue all of this

Yes indeed

This poem is done for

And so am I.

 

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under 365 poems

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s