I am homeless Not because I live in my car But, because my home is in the arm… And I forget what that feels like
I don’t write poems for poets Flowery language, indulge us I break it down With a simpler sound And anything more would be less
I might be self-absorbed But I’m not selfish I work on Myself Because that’s the best way For Me to help Us
I guess I write poetry I just vomit my soul onto paper I don’t know what else to call it but, poetry
Go ahead Do your thing I’m waiting With open wings
Little chipper 'munk Primal, honest, cheeky, sweet Sugar in my ’shine
snow rains and flushes mental cocaines
Powdered salt snowflakes Dusted on stubborn dead leaves Life’s perfect white noise
I knew I loved you When I looked in your eyes Recollection of places Not seen in a while Bright, sunny, and free
Sometimes I will stare You’re just more interesting Than others in sight
Working towards Common goals
Sittin’ in a patio chair Breathin’ in the cool night air Listening to the breeze Rustling leaves in trees I’m being the love of life
My brain doesn’t work like it norm… It doesn’t think of the funny rema… Or witty sayings It doesn’t jump from scene to scen… Most of the time it’s too busy
All of Us As Us For Us
Your face Transcends Garnish
