A poet?

I haven’t posted much new stuff lately, partly because I have been caught in the self deprecation cycle of “I ain’t a poet, I have no skill” and my poetry sucks, partly because I haven’t been writing and partly because I fear judgement… but I have decided to get over that little mishap of brain dysfunction and post some thing I have written… so here it is… judge away!!!



she spoke so flippantly, 

told stories of pain, with such ease,

only to nauseously recall beauty,

like some gross puddle of goo,

she did it, just to toy with you.


a matter of must, or must not, drown in your sorrow.


the shits hitteth the fan too many times,

the bitter stains her lips 10 fold,

but rather than wither,

shiver curled up like she is cold,

she shares stories with ease,

nonchalantly spitting shit off her tongue.


some of it rolls off, globulous,

makes you uncomfortable,

but she never been glum.


its just a story of past, or present, or moment thats told.


limitless delirium of whats to come.


death plays at her finger tips,

tears ran deep,

but not often appeared.


that fucked up, but nothing near fragile.


deep turmoil.


leaked fertile.


desperately futile.


she is cute she is told.

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